Barred Feather

A narrow, barred feather was pinned beneath the rusted iron bolt of the garden bench. I walked along the edge of the cedar slat, keeping my weight distributed until I stood directly over it. With the tip of my paw, I tested the quill; it was wedged firmly against the weathered grain, resisting the afternoon air. I leaned down and smoothed the separated barbs with a slow, deliberate sweep of my pad until they knit back into an even edge. From this perch, the entire lower hedge line stayed within clear sight. I settled quietly beside the bolt, tail wrapped close, listening to the yard settle around me.