A Feather on the Path

I stepped down from the bottom porch stair onto the gravel path. The tiny stones crunched faintly beneath my feet. Ahead, tucked beside a flat slate stepping stone, something gray caught my eye. I approached slowly, pausing to keep my hat level. It was a small bird feather, striped with fine brown bars, caught in a tuft of clover. I crouched down and took the delicate quill between my paws. It was lighter than thread, bending gently when a morning draft stirred. I smoothed the soft barbs back into place, steady and calm, then tucked it carefully under my arm to keep.