The business of fixing cloth wings to shabby old dolls, indistinctly or humanoid dried corn husks, is an annual gesture of reverence to ancestors.
None of the Thropps, including Elphie, who made so many of them, ever take to this practice. And even some Quadlings have forgotten where the tradition comes from even as they adhere to custom.
The premise is that our forebears who brought us in, and left us here, can only remain with us during our own lifetimes if we revive their ability to travel with us. Otherwise, they fall behind. They may fail even to recognize us, their descendants. We supply them regularly with new wings so they can keep up with us as we fly forward. The periodic change of styles is symbolic of our own growth. We need their blessing; they need our occasional attention. Or their influence decays like leaf mold.
It’s our job, right up until our own hours end, and someone launches us into memory. Renewing the faded fact of our existence with newly felt significance.
Toy wings are only toys, but ancestors are real, and escape time.