It wasn’t until he was near the top of the ridge that he distinctly heard a set of wings, it was unmistakable…
so he looked up into the brightness of the sun. He saw nothing…but felt the presence of wings.
Was it an eagle’s spirit, or an angel? He couldn’t tell. And then one single white feather, tinged with grey came floating down,
landing on his shoulder, and for some reason he felt….well protected. Then he remembered,
that feathers could be held as sacred…..he carried that feather in his hand to the top of the mountain,
then he closed his eyes, whispering a prayer. He didn’t know it then, but a very large shadow of wings covered him……
Poetry, and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies