While fir trees persist like victors in stony ground, I slow my flight over fallen cones, stepping into scripture as if it were a river, waving wings like white flags, hollow bones, supple as undiscovered worlds. Oh, how willing is this featherweight, light as linen paper, quill. Beneath those trees that sing, I will my weight to stone—pining for constancy in the current of ancient pages.
Britney Wells is a mother of four and a returning BYU student majoring in English.
