My sister and I walked this morning along a beautiful lake near her cottage and an abandoned, decaying, but once extremely popular amusement park.  

In the dying trees along the water’s edge, large, dark, crook-necked buzzards leered at us from their roosts on grey, weathered branches.  

The scenery evoked feelings of sadness.  

Seconds later these harbingers of death took flight and their long white-tipped wings became visible.  

Each tip was distinct, perfectly shaped, delicately edged and absolutely beautiful reminding me I am always happier when I take a moment to check my memories and my life for white-tipped edges.

Have a white-tipped weekend.