Returning Home

I found a feather returning home today.
It was snowy, tinged with black on one side.
I held it against the leaden sky
And kept it because I couldn’t bear leaving it for the rain
To clump the follicles together and ruin the silken beauty.

So I carried it across the grassy hillside and down my sandy driveway,
But it fell before I opened the door.
Perhaps it didn’t like the way I twirled it between my thumb and forefinger,
Or maybe it simply didn’t want to go inside
Where the sun and sky are boxed in.

Either way, I left it to be rained upon, or blown by the wind.
Maybe it will be crushed by the tires of a guest.
I would have lost it at some point, or stepped on it accidentally.
Such small things tend to be forgotten.
So I left it there by my door in the sand to return home.