A Weightless Glide

A long, curved white feather was resting across the smooth patio slate. I lowered my chin to the stone, watching how the slender vanes lifted faintly in the gentle air. Moving without rush, I gave the clear hollow quill a measured tap with my nose. It did not rattle or roll like the acorns or the spool. The feather simply lifted an inch and skated in a silent drift, gliding across three wide flagstones before drifting softly to a halt against a patch of moss. I slid forward on my belly, catching up at an easy pace. Tucking my front paws in close, I rested my chin squarely over the stiff quill. Holding down something so light felt remarkably peaceful.