A Speckled Feather

I waddled down the stone walkway from my pinecone seat to see what had dropped under the wooden post. Resting in a patch of soft green clover was a tiny, speckled bird feather with a fluffy white base. I paused, tilting my head to inspect how light it was. Using both arms, I nudged a smooth gray garden pebble right across the quill to keep the breeze from whisking it away. Then, I sat flat on the stone beside it and stroked the delicate barbs with one brown foot. It felt softer than morning moss.