Letter from the Desert: Burning Birds III
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Look: a feather rests on the desert soil. Sun and wind and time have faded it to a few gray tendrils on a broken piece of quill. Was it once part of a raven, blue-black and as big as a sail? Could it have been a brighter blue, like a tailfeather off a lazuli bunting? Or bicolored from a kestrel? Hard to say.
And is that a singe mark along the feather’s edge?
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