I sat in the glider outside this morning
To begin my meditation
Birds’ songs and squawks filled the air
A single feather rocked back and forth
As it journeyed from a tall tree
To land on the glider beside me
It was not symmetrical
Yet was still in good shape
Blue and white tipped in brown
A squawk came from a tree to my left
The origin of this lone feather?
Was this bird keening her loss?
Or was it a gift to remind me
To notice life in my yard?
Or just a chance act of nature?