Tiny Feather

by Emma Freeman

If I hadn’t paused in the kitchen

this morning to take the moldy orange

out to the compost pile

I wouldn’t have felt my feet

standing on the soft bed of clover

or the warm kiss of the sun on my face

or the trees nourishing breath enter my lungs

or the sweet birdsong surrounding

and soothing me

If I hadn’t slowed down enough

to step outside today

I wouldn’t have felt the profound jolt of joy

when I looked down to see a tiny

spotted feather on the ground

as I followed the path back home.