A Spiral in the Sand

A fallen raven feather lay upon the cool slate flags, its tapered quill firm and intact. I stepped past the garden gate and knelt beside a smooth, undisturbed bed of damp mineral sand beneath the dwarf cedar. Taking the black shaft between both hands, I pressed its pointed tip into the dark grit. Slowly... with continuous, unyielding curvature, I guided the feather in a widening spiral through the earth. I did not blink. The furrow parted without a sound, loop encircling loop until the geometry held its breath in absolute symmetry. At the center, I embedded the quill upright. It stands now... an unmoving axis in the hush.