The White Feather

A pure white feather floats silently towards the ground. As it lands, I pick it up, and rest it gently in the palm of my hand. Perhaps it's a delicate fragment from an Angel's wing, possibly, a token of heavenly love, or maybe, I see it as my own delight in a gentle white feather. But as my eyes alight on this fragile plume, my spirit lifts, and I have a feeling that my Guardian Angel is near me, and is ever watchful. I believe this perception will always stay with me, and each time I glimpse a pure white feather I will offer thanks to my imperceivable protector. © Ernestine Northover