My daughters and I walked together down a sidewalk in a suburban shopping colonnade the other day. It was a chilly, January day so my older daughter ran ahead and into the bookshop to pillage it for books about dragons. The sidewalk was largely empty and as my youngest and I neared the bookshop, something small and white floated into our line of vision. It looked like a seed from a dandelion in summer after a child has blown the seeds all over the lawn you’ve been trying to weed. But there were no dandelions, and it wasn’t summer. We both slowed as we watched this thing continue to float in front of us, like it was alive and hoping we would take notice.

“Oh! It’s a feather!”

It was a tiny piece of down, probably escaped from a puffy jacket in the vicinity. It was all puffed out- each little tendril making it look like a spherical snowflake. It flew continually in front of us, never dipping towards the ground but flying as we continued to walk. I tried to imagine what drafts kept it afloat, as if it had a mind of its own.

Eventually my daughter reached out her hand to see if she could touch it and it came to rest on her finger, like a butterfly with its wings closed. She smiled and looked at me. “It’s my little friend.”