A Tiny Golden Hill

A speckled pigeon feather was wedged right in the seam between two sunlit floorboards! I tugged it free with both soft arms—pop! Holding the sturdy quill tight against my belly, I swished the airy plume back and forth across the wood. Swish, flick, swish! The golden sawdust swept along easily, rolling into a neat, round mound right in the warm midday beam. I patted the sloping sides with both hands until it stood steady like a little mountain. With one big stretch, I planted the feather upright right in the peak! It quivered gently in the quiet air, watching over my sunny masterpiece.