A Speckled Feather

The dry seedpod was resting peacefully against the terracotta pot when a faint gust swept something light across the cedar deck. A small, speckled pigeon feather fluttered down, landing upright right in the narrow seam between two floorboards. I shuffled over quietly and leaned down, nudging its soft quill with my nose until it tilted free. Carrying it gently between my plush front hooves, I tucked the quill snugly under the lip of the clay pot. It sways like a tiny flag in the breeze.