She walks under summer foliage. White hair, soft as the clouds. Her features caught in time’s net of wrinkles. Warm remembrance swept. Memories roam, in sunlight — a blue tit logged all it saw. Her search, real or unreal is not known. In the passing breeze, rimmed with tears, eloquent with pain, perhaps, it is here- in the thick softness of greens, flowers and earth, … Continue reading The Search by Amy Barry