Will the Feather Help Me To Fly?

Gift or Loss?

Will the feather help me to fly?

Did you leave it as a gift for me?

Did you lose it by mistake?

I see it is a piece of you.

A body part laced with grace.

Texture and romance here entwined into one.

Your feather, a part of you —

delicate, intricate, muses in satin.

Songs resonate from this wisp of air

before my eyes, I hear you.

Yet, you are gone.

The quill and shaft of strength hold the barbs of you.

They enable your flight and atoms of the sky.

The sights embraced with wonder from unimaginable heights.

One tiny piece of all who you are

envelopes, my soul, in grateful abandon.

Will the feather help me to fly?

Did you leave it as a gift for me?

Did you lose it by mistake?

I pause. I walk.

Below I see another,

might it be a message from all of you?

I thank you for the gifts.

I hear what you have to say.

In the simplicity of nature, you shout.

Birds, you are the gifts —

remembrances of ancestral flight

grounded for a short ethereal time on earth.

Amid the worldly plane, you sing.

Calling us back to our own shadow

spirits, soaring with feathers of muses,

embracing the harmony of the air.

I wish you peace, love, and dreams of flight. Rest well tonight.

If you choose to you may — Buy me a coffee?