Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Seeing the feather in the pile of leaves on Saturday reminded me of the opening of the movie, Forrest Gump when a feather flutters hither and yon and lightly lands at Forrest's feet. Forrest bends, picks up the feather, and gently places the feather inside his favorite childhood book, Curious George.
I'm sure the feather I found nestled among the leaves is from the doves who, all summer, perched in the trees' foliage, their presence revealed only by a soft cooing.
Gone are the warm days of Summer. Gone are the leaves that provided shelter. Gone are the cooing doves. . . Winter's silence settles around me.