It was a beautiful day for a picnic.
The tables covered with food and drink,
people laughing and talking among the benches,
and the children ran and played.
Soft feathers chased after their footsteps,
only to be lost to the dirt below.
The children screamed with joy,
kicking aside twigs and grass and long, black legs.
One tripped over a still form,
only to get back up without a second thought,
and run down toward the lake.
Necks craned over to make sure that the children were safe,
but some remained pointing toward a nearby tree,
their white eyes not capturing this glorious day,
not capturing anything at all.
The wind rustled, disturbing items on the table,
twisting strands of hair,
but failing to lift those wings that once took flight.
Instead, they laid still, decorating patches of green
under bright blue skies.
Melissa R. Mendelson