A Feather on the Moss

I slipped through the cracked patio door to take a gentle breath of fresh air outside. In a weathered terracotta pot by the steps, a soft grey feather was caught among the damp green moss. I knelt carefully on the brick rim so my gown would not catch on the rough clay. Leaning forward, I picked up the fallen down with two fingers and set it down in the sheltered hollow between two smooth river stones, so the breeze would not carry it away before the little garden finch could return.