CWA 1: 8.25 by Andre Ornelas

August 25th, 2024

The wind felt cool

as it touched

the sides of his wings, orange reflections across the water

as far as her eyes could see, the smell of salt whisked their beings

"Are you sure our place is out there,

flight passed the unknown land?"

"There is land there,

to rest our aged wings."

Clouds guided their path down the endless.

Blues, reds, and grey were their last sights.