October 2009
1 post
Feathers
When I was a little girl I would pick up discarded feathers — found pieces of an avian wonder and the calling cards of an animal not bound to this earth. Stiff enough for flight, yet soft as a whisper upon your cheek. As vibrant as a field of wildflowers punctuated with exclamation points, or as unassuming and unremarkable (yet so remarkable!) as camouflage can be. Layers of beauty wrapped...