When she arrived at work, sitting atop her desk in the very center in front of the well-worn keyboard was a delicate feather. A dark grey, it was a tiny wisp of a thing. Delicate and perfect. Actually, there were a few wisps missing at the bottom, but perfect nonetheless.
Where had it come from? What did it mean? Did it, in fact, mean anything?
She pondered this while making her morning tea, the Tazo Cocoa mint maté that she could only find, of all places, at Target.
She even Googled "feathers" and learned, of all things, that they are made up of keratin. She also learned that it wasn't "wisps" that were missing from the bottom of the feather, but instead "barbs" that had pulled away from the "rachi," the central core, the same as in palms.
Not really the information she was seeking; she wanted to know the symbolic meaning, what did finding a feather on her path mean for her? She tried again.
This search was more successful. Commonly feathers are thought to be symbols of higher thought and spiritual expression, also light hardheartedness, enlightenment, progress, truth, and heightened awareness. One site even said that finding a feather in your path could be a sign from a loved one or the Universe/Spirit, a reminder that you are supported and guided. It went on to say that whenever you observe a sign, such as a feather in your path, you should take note of what you were thinking just before it happened.
Shit, she couldn't remember. What was she thinking about? Her common irritation about the fact that the office mini-fridge froze almost everything placed in it? The hair appointment that was scheduled for 5 pm? She was pretty sure she had moved on from her disappointment that her jeans were tighter than they should be at this point in her cycle....
As she twirled the tiny feather in her fingers, so pleased with it's unexpected and seemingly auspicious arrival, it hit her; she had an awful idea, only it wasn't a wonderful, awful idea, like the in The Grinch, it was only awful, as in disappointing.
She realized with complete certainty that it didn't matter what she had been thinking about before spying the wee feather on her desk. It didn't matter one tiny bit. It didn't matter because this feather was nothing but a remnant from the feather duster that the cleaning people had hurriedly waved across her desk the night before. A careless leftover from the most mundane of jobs.
Although disappointing, she had to laugh. So she did so, loudly and with gusto.