Yesterday, I went tramping through the rain, feeling pretty dreary. A leaden grey pervaded the world around: the heavy sky, lonely country road, wet tree trunks. What wasn’t grey was soggy brown—dead leaves, bare branches, old boots.
I remembered sadly that when we feel a need for reassurance or encouragement, all we have to do is ask. I sent out a vague, sorrowful prayer, trying to breathe compassion and gratitude into the dampness. And I asked—but I didn’t know for what. And I surrendered—but I didn’t know to what.
And there, before my eyes, an enormous white feather floated gently down. It landed delicately on a rain-jeweled twig in front of me. I very gently placed it in my hands and reverently took it home. It remains beside me as a steadfast reminder of presence, mystery, and peace.