A Single Feather

A single feather floats toward the November ground.
It's warmer than usual, and the birds are somewhat confused.
They have finally decided to call it quits,
They are bound for warmer air even still.
I stand and watch the feather floating down.
Naturally, I look up to see its source.
There is nothing there.
I hold out my hand as the feather comes close.
It lands in the center of my palm.
It's so beautiful. Black and white with red flecks.
A wisp of wind blows by and knocks the feather out of my hand.
Out into the street it flies dodging cars with panicked motions.
It's practically unseen. It's going to get crushed!
They must look out! Too late.
The feather is gone. The air is crisp.
I stand with my arms around me.
"At least I got to hold it for a second" I thought.
Maybe I'll see this feather again.
Maybe another feather will drift my way.