A Speckled Feather

A tiny gray feather drifted past my nose and landed softly in a cedar groove. I paused behind a thick baluster, watching its fine down tremble in the faint breeze. When the air settled, I tiptoed closer and nudged the quill with my paw. It spun around in a quiet little circle, catching the pale afternoon sun. The weathered deck boards felt warm against my chest, so I curled beside the rail, keeping the feather tucked right under my chin.