The wind blew the beautiful white feather into the long grass on the ring fort. It is surprisingly large for a fluffy white feather. I wonder if it is from a swan, except that there are no swans in the Garden, so its origin is something of a mystery.
In many traditions - Egyptian, Maori and Native American as well as Celtic - feathers are associated with the spirit world. Druids, shamans and holy people wear feathered robes or head-dresses, and finding a feather is sometimes seen as a spiritual message or sign.
I hold my feather and think of lightness of being, of soaring like a bird, up, up and away into the expanse of the sky, riding the summer breeze.
I let the feather fly again and it alights on water, zipping across the surface - a little spirit boat that lightens my day.
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