A Slender Feather

A tiny gray pigeon feather had drifted in through the cracked glass and rested near the edge of the wooden sill. I padded over quietly and sat down beside it. The noon sun made the painted wood beneath me warm and pleasant. A faint draft slipped past the sash, causing the little downy barb to shudder gently. I reached out a round paw and carefully pinned the quill tip to the sill so it would not flutter away. Together, we stayed still, watching the dust motes drift across the bright light.