Here on the farm and moors, feathers are scattered around like confetti blown in the wind. Hidden in grasses along the stone walls, these small works of art and aviation wait for me to find them.
And I cannot help myself – I gather them all up and take my treasures home to display and to ponder.
Feathers speak to me of grace and flight, divine mysteries, ancient histories.
They are soft, sharp slivers of wonder I can hold in my hands.
There is nothing “ordinary” about these quills. Each one has a story to tell…or inspire…
if I will take the time to enjoy their simplicity, explore their complexity.
May you discover something of wonder today, and hold its story in your hand.