Something you found
I am an avid collector of feathers. I don’t know why, but when I see a feather a bird has dropped—it doesn’t matter the type of bird—then I pick it up and take it home with me. At this point, I have feathers from pheasants, hawks, crows (lots of those), pigeons, robins, blue jays, cardinals, swans, even an owl feather or two. There is something magical about how soft those feathers are, how they catch the light. A story in each wingbeat, a whisper in each barb.
I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to do with all of them, but for now, I just like the gathering. There doesn’t have to be a purpose to everything. There doesn’t need to be a reason.
And for that moment, the moment I spot the feather, there is a spark of wonder in the magnificent. I have all those sparks as memories, for as long as the feathers remain.