Ever since I’ve known Margo, she’s collected feathers.
If we’re on a walk somewhere, she’ll spot one and pick it up. She can’t walk by and leave it. She must have it.
And she won’t let one go after it’s made it to her fingers. It has to travel with her. I’ve had feathers stashed away in my car, my pockets, in places I’d never expect to find them, just so they come home with us.
If she finds one doing the gardening, it goes into the crack of a log for safe-storage.
If one lands in the pool, it’s jammed between tiles.
Whatever is closest to her at the time becomes a temporary feather holder, waiting for a time when it’ll be promoted into one of her creative explosions.
Until that time comes, cracks, slits, and holes are vulnerable to orphaned-feathers. Yes, they have a new mother and a new purpose in life.
When there’s an artistic project in the making, I’ll post the results here. – LOL Michael
P.S Don’t hold your breath.