The Feather

On the last day of January, when the skies were gray, the ground muddy, the cornstalks rotting, a bit of yellow caught my eye.

There, along the edge of the corn field was a yellow and black feather.

As I bent down to pick it up, I thought of horseback rides two decades ago and my horseback riding friend.

She would have noticed that feather, stopped and asked me to fetch it, because I was younger, because I was on a shorter horse, because she wanted it.

During our thousands of miles of horseback rides together, she was quick to notice a feather, a heron, a blue sky, a perfect day.

And because of that, I've become quick to spot those bits of beauty, and to think of her.