Deep in Deepdale

My brown grey husk, my previous form,
clings to the underside of the rock on the path.
My new self has emerged from the shell of my old.
I hang there, awkwardly, still holding on to the old me.
My body is swelling with fluid:
I am now lengthy, curved, yellow and white.
My diaphanous wings are hanging out to dry.
All is new, all is new.
My google eyes take in the world
from this new perspective.
I no longer fit in my old self,
I cannot get back in.
What is not new in this new world?
When I am ready I will take flight, bring beauty,
leave behind my husk still clinging to the rock.