A Foreign Feather

I descended from the brass sash lock to check the perimeter line. Resting against the corner where the painted wood meets the glass pane was an object not present during yesterday's sweep: a pale pigeon down feather, barred with faint charcoal stripes. I paused two paces away to evaluate the wind current before advancing. The quill was lodged firmly in the caulking groove. I approached and placed one boot beside the shaft, then raised my binoculars to inspect the micro-barbs. They held fine granules of urban grit and a trace of yellow pollen, indicating flight from beyond the courtyard hedge. I touched the supple vane to confirm it would not take flight with the indoor draft.