Amid the sod and compost
the wispy delicate bluebells,
I spied a piece of redwood bark
shaped remarkably like a bird's wing.
Molded by weather, foot step,
and breakage,
it was as if the bird
was perched nearby
lamenting its vital loss.
The fissures in the bark,
the overlapping crevices
lay as feathers would
deep red brown
in the sunlight glowing,
waiting for its owner to return.
