This morn I spied a feather, frail and fine,
Upon the splintering deck rail, in the sun,
Whose slanting stream of light enhanced the spline,
Causing pause and leaving me awe-stunned.
What flutter-winged dove whose day begun
pursuing nuts and seeds, has flown away?
Yet wisps of mourning coos that’ve come and gone
Remain to add perspective to this day.
An alternate reality faint displayed,
Now viewed within the prism of dawn’s first light
When leaves and feathers double their arrays,
Yet all to soon will vanish in the night.
Shadows cling to all things, if we see,
They’re often more than they appear to be.
Photo Friday: Shadows