dove in the shower

this morning I watched the soapsuds drain down the shower head. They formed the figure of a stylized dove, wings sketched to her side, and her neck stretched out away from her body, reaching for something. As she slowly slipped down towards the bottom of the bath, she began to be pulled by the passing water, and lose definition.
Because I'm a hopeless romantic, I'd like to think things are symbols, that can teach us something. I don't think everything is a message written especially for you in bright happy crayon colours, but I do think that events are such that they collaborate to challenge you, or allow you to take the party going on in your head (worries, conflicts, insecurities) and place them outside, with a visual for you to think about.
The dove had wings, but never used them as she slowly lost definition. stereotypical girl-tatoos aside, wings are a powerful image. They are truly your own (if you're of the avian persuasion) they are a muscle, they take practice. and at one point, you have to jump of off a high place to test them out, not knowing they will actually unfold.
I'd like to point out that trust is a hard thing, because we have so many examples of it going wrong. A bird jumping out of it's nest might be doing so after watching it's brother jump and fail to execute. He might be jumping with the visible remains of the last jumper laying in plain sight below. That's not just trust, but courage, and a dash of recklessness.
but if you don't 'ahem' spread your wings and fly. (yes it hurt to even type that kind of cheese) you'll flow down the drain with the rest of the soapsuds (ha, how's that for mixing metaphors)
It's not the 90 minutes recommended by stephen king for fledgeling writers, but it's pretty much all I have to say about today.