Once a child, always a child. This morning I am drawn to a brownish feather blown over onto the balcony floor, where I’ve noticed it gently swirling. I grab it in midair, hold it up by the shaft, like a writing quill, sniff the vane, straighten out the barbs. It is a fine specimen, caramel and chocolate brown around the edges, off-white in the middle. I wonder what kind of bird it may have come from – a brown pigeon? I suddenly wince as I hear concerned voices in my head: ‘Don’t do that! It might be infected with avian flu or something!’ I am instantly ashamed by this cowardly, nonsensical thought. Anyway, even if there were any bacteria in there I already inhaled them. So, what next? For a moment I consider throwing the feather back to the winds. If only the bird would come back I’d reattach the feather to its wing. Well, it’s on my desk now, inside a pen holder. I may photograph it, or write a haiku.
Three stages of self-awareness: the child, the schooled adult, the would-be artist. Once a child, always a child.
Sunday, June 26th, 2011
