Bring Down the Babies
Morning.
Quiet as church.
Out on the grass thousands
of feathers like blankets
of snow.
The day drifted, gliding
on white doves and hymns,
a bazaar of voices
opening doors.
Bring down the babies.
Mother stood, face and palms
skyward.
Above ancient branches
the wind whirls, a wonderland of birds
flying wild.
Quiet as church.
Out on the grass thousands
of feathers like blankets
of snow.
The day drifted, gliding
on white doves and hymns,
a bazaar of voices
opening doors.
Bring down the babies.
Mother stood, face and palms
skyward.
Above ancient branches
the wind whirls, a wonderland of birds
flying wild.
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Author's Note
Appeared in Mockingheart Review, 2016. Thanks, Clare!
Other stories by Charlotte Hamrick
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Visually beautiful.
"The day drifted, gliding
on white doves and hymns"
Nice!
*
[Bring down the babies.--quotes? italics? something to set off that line?]
what is "porm"?
So beautiful and precise, C. xo
This one is wild and serene at the same time. Mysterious, too.**
Erika, Bill, Rachna, Nonnie, thanks so much for reading and commenting. I so appreciate it.
Bill, that's my iPad talking. Apparently it wants something wilder than a flock of birds. *Insert Oh No! emoji*
Sweet and smart.
Thais, Gary!
A scene to remember.*
Good God--beautiful.
"a bazaar of voices
opening doors."
Wow. The whole thing cinematic and grand.
Tim, Darryl, Jill, thanks so much for reading and your kind comments.
This is gorgeous though I am not sure I understand it but what's to understand when "Above ancient branches / the wind whirls...". ***
Ah......love it
Thanks so much Marcus and Kitty