May 7, 1999: The red feather
I wish to bring a flower—it’s red, weathered, yet loved like no other. It hung from a tree to feel flight then planted, near a tree to taste growth. Each day I walked by this flower, I knew it to be special, to share with a friend, to give, not receive, to believe, then lead back to the path to which you walked upon. A flower whose seeds are rare, to help heel, to borrow your pain, to disguise itself so your own belief can rush in…a flower, red, for you, my dear friend.

These words will forever be in total dedication to Peggy McDaniel, a co-worker, 63 years in age who stopped to visit with me in the studio. I had never shared thoughts about my collection of trees, yet she knew of my writing. Struck down by liver cancer, I felt such a feather would in fact bring peace to her daily unknown travels inside a new world she would soon walk.