I watch — The wren PLAYS at the edges of my yard, alert to signs of food, mate, or threat. I watch — marveling at its tiny movements, how the insects must view its clawed approach like the great TALON of a hawk. If I could only lock away this moment in the VAULT of my memory, there to ease moments of stress, of finding FAULT in my every move.

Georg’ann

A quick glance, the IMAGE has
No need to ADORN, the face appears HAPPY. Closer examination shows a furrowing, room enough for CAULK in the FAULT lines of sorrow

Heather