15/06/2026
I found a feather on the path this morning.
I stood there for a long time.
It was white and exact —
the kind of thing you would step over
on any other day of your life
and not stop for.
But I stopped.
I crouched down and looked at it
the way you look at something
when you are hoping it means what you want it to mean.
Beside it, a coin —
small and silver, face-up in the pale light.
And I am not certain of anything
except this: that the love I carry
has made me attentive to feathers,
to coins, to the particular quality of light on a still morning.
Made me attentive.
The luminous butterfly above them
in this image does not land on either one.
It holds itself above the feather and the coin
the way tenderness holds itself above evidence.
I picked up the feather.
I left the coin where it was.
I don't know why I made that choice.
I have been thinking about it since.
— Grieving with Love
