Claiming the Tribute

The sliding screen door stood parted just wide enough to grant passage. I stepped across the cold aluminum track and out onto the balcony without hesitation. There, caught against the lower twist of the black iron railing, rested the vivid blue feather left behind yesterday. I closed my fingers firmly around the delicate quill, prying it free from the grate. The morning breeze attempted to tug it away, yet nothing within my reach defies my grasp. I wedged the shaft securely into the grain of the wooden planter—a permanent marker that this threshold answers only to my command.