Imagine if you will, a soft and fluffy white feather floating gracefully through the air.  Not too high above you, yet just out of your reach.  The purity of it’s shinning whiteness is magnified by the pale blue sky behind it.  So soft, so pure and with such glimmering distinction, the edges of this elusive white feather seem to glow even brighter than the rays of the sun shinning brightly beyond it. 

Just out of arms reach, the feather wafts along on a nearly non-existent breeze.  It seems to flutter and at times to climb a little higher, becoming that much further out of reach.  Walking along below it, you can’t help but become mesmerized by the eloquence of it.  The desire to caress it, stroke it and possess it is nearly overwhelming.

With earnest hope and prayer, you fervently wish for it to drop within your reach.  With maddening slowness, it gracefully loops and swirls a little lower.  The air becomes still and not even the trees are breathing.  Life is holding it’s breath, anticipating you at last delicately plucking the magnificent feather from the air. 

All is still and quiet.  Nothing stirs, except the thunder of your heart.  Wait, little one, and let the feather fall into your hand.  For if you move your hand to grab at it, the current from the movement will cause a draft to blow the feather ever higher.  Let it float onto your outstretched hand and then tenderly curl your fingers around it.  Be careful not to bruise it or disturb the delicate tendrils of this glorious creation.

Pull it gingerly to your bosom, take it’s essence into your soul.  Shelter and nurture and pamper it, but never let it go. 

Life is a pale blue sky.  Perception is a blinding sun.  Love is a graceful and delicate feather to be cherished.  Rush not to the feather, less the sun blind you and the breeze you stir in grasping, cause the feather to float further away into the pale blue sky.

©2002 J.L. Day