They say the Ironwing Menagerie was born from the sparks that scatter across a workshop floor just before dusk — that moment when the world sits between light and shadow, and something half-wild finds room to slip through.
Each dragonfly in this peculiar gathering is forged from reclaimed fragments of the everyday: reclaimed silverware, screws, and spark plugs, scrap that once served another life. Under heat and hammer they transform, their wings shimmering with the ghost of their former purpose. No two creatures in the Menagerie are the same; each carries its own echo, its own memory of the hands that once held the metal it’s made from.
Some say these iron-winged beings act as guardians of forgotten spaces, hovering in stillness until someone worthy crosses their path. Others whisper that they’re messengers — bearers of quiet truths carried on metallic wings, drifting between worlds where the mundane meets the magical.
However one sees them, the Ironwing Menagerie stands as a testament to rebirth: a celebration of what can rise from the overlooked, the discarded, and the left-behind. A reminder that beauty often waits, patient and unseen, inside the most unlikely things.
Christine Rose 