A quick walk along this river, a quick poem, and off to buy a house.


Drifting parabolas

of unstudied elegance,

resplendent as sun-caught falling snow.

Pristine plumage,

cutting through steely grey.


feathered beauty,

laughing in the wake

of winter waves.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

22 thoughts on “Parabolas”

      1. Ahh–the French is much better! ๐Ÿ™‚ And how wonderful about the house. I hope you’ll be very happy there. When do you move? Are there ghosts? ๐Ÿ™‚

      2. I hope so too. I don’t know about ghosts, but the old lady of 97 who is selling to live in sheltered accomodation close to her grand-nephew is very cut up about leaving. So I doubt there’s anything nasty. Unless you count owls.

        Date: Fri, 19 Feb 2016 20:30:01 +0000 To:

      1. That owl reminds me of a butterfly at my late mother-in-law’s funeral … congratulations. May your house be filled with sunshine and happiness ๐Ÿ™‚

      2. It’s funny isn’t it – I don’t associate owls with death at all although I know it is a popular one. I rather think they are bearers of wisdom – I am sure they select their residences carefully.

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