Читать книгу Come-Hither Honeycomb - Erin Belieu - Страница 6

She notices something then that has caught on her sleeve. It is the tiniest of feathers, hardly more than a wisp of down. She detaches it carefully, meaning to inspect it more closely, but it is so slight that she cannot keep hold of it. She sees it only for an instant before the wind takes it, a thread of brightness that shivers from her fingertips and is gone.

from Paraic O’Donnell’s The Maker of Swans