Feather

It was perfect.
Only a few inches long, probably
pigeon or seagull, white
soft with a little bit of dove-gray
running through the innervane
above the afterfeathers.
“Look,” I said to my companion,
“A feather for Minet”
I repositioned my walking stick,
shifted by bag and parcels to
the opposite shoulder and bent down,
reached to almost the spot where it rested
at the edge on the flagstone walkway
before I remembered.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s