I am a finder and a keeper of lost things. A seed blows on the wind, and its random course brings a new vine where I may have stepped, but now avoid, string and stick prepped to tie and to tend until it's crept from sprout to heavy blossoming of fruit. I have found creatures, winged and clawed. Even some men, floundering and flawed. I kept them til they got re-lost. A key, a rusty necklace, unhatched egg, a ring. Half-a-heart charm with a silvery thing dangling from it. I've kept them all. But of the bunch - what I recall - the wing the winged thing has been the most heart-rending. Though it was meant to fly, freedom wouldn't feed it. It was blind, and would die, so I took it. Now on my shoulder it will sit when I have time to spend with it. Because it's mine. Comments (0)