to everything there is a season,
a time for every purpose under the sun.
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted.
ecclesiastes 3:1-8
In the cool stillness of her mind she searched the endless ripples. For the alabaster down feathers which now haunted her dreams. Gentle water lapped at her feet and caressed the ones she had grown to love so. A cradle of waves. And in the calm breeze which slightly disturbed her brown curls she watched in revelry. Until the gold of the day turned silver.