A Speckled Feather

I waddled down toward the bottom porch step, where the sun warmed the splintered cedar grain. Right beside an empty ceramic planter, a tiny speckled bird feather lay caught in a groove. I stopped... pulling my hood down low until only my eyes peeked over the orange rim. The feather looked so light and ticklish. Gathering my courage, I reached out one stubby nub and nudged the soft quill. It spun in a lazy circle, fluttering against the wood with a quiet, breathy rustle. I bobbed up from my shell with a soft murmur, letting the fluffy down brush my cheek.