One morning, as I stood at my bay window looking out
to assess the evolving day, I spotted a single white feather falling from the sky. The feather was downy and descending slowly, without
any lateral drift—the way a pearl might sink through a vat filled with oil. The feather was perhaps one hundred feet off
the ground when I first saw it. In all
the remaining expanse of sky I saw nothing but that feather. Not a cloud.
Not a single bird. And I watched
the feather ease all the way down into the tawny grass, with jade-colored
mountains behind, and perfect silence all around.
What meaning in that?
--Mitchell
Hegman
Selective perception?
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