Thursday, December 3, 2020 Feathery Musings

Soft, fringed, extravagant plumes
For flight, for warmth, like colorful blooms,
For attracting just the right kind of mate,
And keeping one dry ’til the storms abate.
The shaft is the part that goes up the middle
The vane, like the teeth of a comb but less brittle.

A bird takes for granted in all kinds of weathers
The boon of having all kinds of feathers.
And when they fall off by the side of the road
The bird flies on, having lightened its load.
The wind picks them up and casts them adrift
The dry stalk holds them in a ballet lift

And there they stand, having done their duty –
Seemingly useless, still objects of beauty.

He will cover you with His feathers,
And under His wings, you will find refuge.
Psalm 91:4

I’ll probably delete this when the feather flies by itself, borne aloft on the morning breezes.