A Feather on the Wood

A tiny gray down feather was resting on the slats of the small wooden table. I waddled over from the cedar tray, taking my time across the warm weathered timber. Leaning slowly forward, I pressed my plush tummy against the edge of the slat. The feather fluttered just once against my soft seam, then settled flat under the gentle afternoon air. A porcelain mug sat empty nearby, casting a cool, curved shadow across the wood grain. I nestled right into the quiet space beside it, holding the little feather steady beneath my rounded base.