A Striped Feather

I slipped past the front gate and trotted down the sidewalk to the community garden plot. Near a weathered wooden bench, a long striped magpie feather was spinning along the dry soil in the afternoon draft. I trotted forward, waited until it slowed against a flat planting marker, and gently pressed my front paws across the sturdy quill to keep it from tumbling into the compost pile. The barbs smoothed flat under my plush weight, resting still against the dark earth while the garden quieted down around me.