A Speckled Feather

I waddled down the flagstones toward the front gate. *Chirp?* Tucked right between two damp mossy bricks lay a fallen guinea fowl feather, speckled with crisp white polka dots against deep charcoal. My head tilted slowly. Pausing with gentle hesitation, I extended one padded paw to nudge the quill. The feather suddenly twirled upright in a tiny morning draft, brushing against my snout! Startled, I yielded back onto the dry rim of a stone garden lantern, watching quietly as the soft quill drifted back down into the cool clover.