Lake Lewisia #1371

[scrubjayspeaks]

“If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride,” she sang to herself, a funny little lullaby to keep her creations soothed while she worked on the last fine details. Her deft fingers curled up wood shavings fine as paper and light as feathers, the skill needed to make lumps of wood into something capable of flight. Wishes weren’t horses, of course; they were birds, carved from the heaviest of hopes into the faintest of whispers, sent out into the world to alight where they may.

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LL#1371