Monday, August 13, 2012

Shedded Gifts

I am not wise. I struggle to see. No Arthurian sword sways in my hands. I see only little things, and listen to the whispers of nature's beauty, with a prayer that my presence and words honor sweet Life.

Perhaps that is why I gather feathers. Reminders of wings that continue to fly even in shedding their gifts of flight.

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