Little Feathers, photograph

The sunlight glistened through the fringed canopy of Spanish moss, draped lazily over the gnarled and reaching branches of the ancient live oaks. The oaks stood a strong and timeless watch over the calm waters of the marsh and the piles of oyster shells littered among the stones and grasses of the shore. The cool autumn air hung gently in silence, bathing the walk in a fresh, friendly calm, and the little boy trotted along behind the red wagon, tasseled shirt hanging low, with bright feathers giving him distinction amongst the gold and mossy hues.

(my reflections as we spent a calm, beautiful Thanksgiving in Savannah, Georgia.)