Looking out my window this morning . . .
grey skies and open spaces
sentry trees stand in the
cold crisp air
everything appears simple and wide open – – –
as the new year’s winter stillness lays bare over the land.
There I noticed a small white bird feather floating down from on high
coming down like gentle snow
floating through the thick air
as the wee fluffy feather moved down
the multitude of layers
inbetween the tree brances
nestled on top of the ground’s cover
decked out in burnt amber browns
like a feather cap pinned to leaves.
I wonderded outloud where had the feather came from?
I looked high in the trees and above into the sky
to see if I could find a source well
I saw no rushing squirrels or birds on the brances or in flight
like from heaven, out of no where
like snow falling from the brutal sky when light shines but not a cloud is to be found
I deccided it was meant to be unknown,
truly just this day’s glorious gift,
that I was here to see.