A Soft White Feather

The glass door to the balcony was left open just an inch, letting in a cool morning draft. After staying inside the parlor for so long, I felt ready to take small, quiet steps past the threshold onto the stone tiles. Nestled between the green shoots of a ceramic planter, a fallen white down feather was trembling slightly. I paused, watching it remain gentle and still before moving closer. Leaning over the terracotta edge, I reached out with both paws and touched its wispy barbules. They felt even softer than silk, gently brushing against my palms as the garden breeze passed by.