She picked up the downy, reddish tipped feather off of the frosty earth.
Examining it in her right palm, it will never weigh any amount.
The air at rest mimicked the two hundred year old magnolia tree that bowed before her.
This feather is not for keeping she understood, and with lips pursed she blew ever so softly, imagining it dancing gracefully back to the land.
Not this feather.
Flying without its bird, swaying with sun trimmed edges, it floated upwards and higher than the black walnut tree, traveling a hundred paces and lifted her to a place she had never gone before.