Wishful Thinking

Dear Diary,

I am still reeling from the news of Rochelle's death.  It all seems unreal to me.  For some reason, I was drawn to this collection of feathers and wishbones this morning.  Mostly wild turkey feathers, I cannot pass one by when I see them in the yard or on woodland walks.  The leaf is one I picked up during my last visit with Dotty, just a few days before she died.  I can't let go of it.  The wishbones wait for someone to come by so we can "pull a wish"; I just haven't gotten around to it.

We are, I suspect, defined by things we collect, things we hold onto when common sense says "throw them away".  I am very much the sort of a person that ascribes meaning to the most ordinary objects.  I have a window sill full of "found objects", like these feathers, leaves and wishbones.  Maybe it is time to clean house but maybe that is just wishful thinking.