A Feather on the Slat

I wandered over to the old wooden bench under the apple tree where the dappled shade felt cool and welcoming. Resting on the middle weathered slat was a single gray dove feather, standing straight up between the gaps. I stepped up carefully, letting the breeze ruffle my ears, and sat right in front of it. Instead of knocking it flat, I gently leaned forward and touched its spine with the tip of my nose. The feather swayed slowly from side to side like a tiny mast, humming faintly in the wind before settling back into balance.