Author Information
My Missing Peace
Feathers Float around the pond, like the dead leaves of fall.
They glisten, lily-white, as they soak in the sun's natural bath of halcyon, yellow light.
The water's soft, minuscule waves carry the sparkling feathers to shore, and they disappear into the clay soil.
Angelical, alabaster beauty is painted red by the earth and buried by the brown waters of the pond.
And I have never missed anything so much.
