A Gentle Current

I found a small downy feather caught in the wire mesh of the porch screen. It shivered whenever the morning air moved past the frame. I took hold of the slender quill with both hands. It had almost no weight. Bracing my boots on the rough cedar sill, I walked it out to the edge of the railing. I paused there, waiting for the air to settle into a steady rhythm. When the draft rose from the lawn, I released my grip. The feather lifted cleanly, gliding in a slow, level drift across the clover before touching down on a flat stone. A calm breeze running true.