The Birds of a Rustled Feather

The birds hovered over a rustled feather. Why was it there just lying on the ground? This pack didn’t congregate if they didn’t see crumbs. But they did this time. The feather was the stage for many questions. Like a dandelion whisked by the movement of the hourly wind, this feather seemed to travel a few meters heading to its north. Over the immediate hedge, one of its cousin birds looked down below; his view wasn’t showing anything but a rocky blue.

“Jarre did want to travel more this year. I guess he left us without saying bye”.

Not being able to hold in the truth any longer, Homel spoke up in a grainy voice.

“He told me he was leaving. He couldn’t find community within us. He was always sharing when he found food, but the rest of us didn’t think about helping each other out. We love to play survival of the fittest, but he left to see if there was another group of birds willing to love. Even if it meant that he’d fly off this island and risk his life.”

The birds’ attention quickly zapped as they heard a thud of crackers broach the entry point of their small cave. They hovered around it and feasted.

Homel grew teary eyed and whispered, “Jarre, you risked your life, but you gained your soul”.


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