Atop a grassy hill
in the peak of a storm
a figure lays unconscious
her white wings sodden
trailed behind her.

She fell from the sky
straight down to the earth
just like a rag doll
hopelessly caught by the forces
working against her.

Struck by lightning
she lost all consciousness
so she plummeted
cracks of breaking bones
as she hit the ground.

So there she lies
on her right side
facing the foot of the hill
turned away from the trees
soaked all through.

Her face, so pale yet perfect
streaked with darkest brown hair,
blackened by the rain
She looks so peaceful
droplets trail, glistening, across her skin

Her strong arms, lifeless and limp,
shimmering with beads
of moisture, as her body gets colder
Shoulders slumped, she is not shivering
but perhaps she dreams

As the winds scream through the trees
it carries echoes, sweeping down the hill,
whispers of a mind, a voice repeats
stricken by fear, paralysed in panic
“Where am I?”