A Weightless Quill

A barred blue feather was wedged upright in the narrow seam between two weathered flagstones. I halted, tilting my neck low to inspect the pale down hugging the base of the quill. Stepping closer with measured caution, I extended my middle claw and slipped its slender curve beneath the spine. A faint draft stirred the delicate barbs against my talon. Shifting my weight backward millimeter by millimeter, I coaxed the quill free from the grit. With a slow lift of my forelimb, I held it suspended horizontally across my claw, marveling at how something so broad could feel entirely like air.