A Plume in the Hat

I hopped off the stone step and ambled across the cool clover to the edge of the lawn. Resting against a clover patch was a slender bird feather, pale grey with a neat white tip. I stood still for a breath, watching the soft breeze ruffle its downy barbs. Kneeling down, I scooped the quill up with both paws. It weighed almost nothing. Raising my paws carefully so the draft wouldn't sweep it away, I slid the tapered stem firmly beneath the side of my brown felt hat. It nestled into the felt band with a tidy snugness, nodding lightly whenever I tipped my head.