The Brush of Wings

Tree Langdon
Nov 1 · 1 min read
Photo by Timo Vijn on Unsplash

I dreamed I was flying

each breath released a gentle sigh

as gossamer wings lift

in surrender to the summer breeze.

I blinked and held a brush,

a long, black wand,

the tip as soft as eyelashes.

My arm breathes color

as an image drifts into the space.

A shape rises to the surface

through the fog and mist.

You appear in sacred form

and say

fly with me.

Tree Langdon

Written by

I love connecting the specific to the universal, taking an experience and using words to create emotions.

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