I walk a lot. On these walks, I happen upon things lost or left.
I’ve found many feathers. Owls. Parrots. Crows. and once a hawk feather.
My friends remind me feathers are signs and have meanings. A black feather is protection. A white feather means an angel is watching over you.
The hawk’s feather represents clear vision.
When I found this hawk’s father, I was ecstatic. Such a wonderful and rare find! I immediately shared the news.
One person questioned how it’d come to be there on the sidewalk in the middle of the day.
I assumed a hawk lost it as he flew overhead or stopped for rest on a nearby tree. I guess he could have swooped down for a mid-day snack and the feather fluttered to the ground.
Yet – this person seemed convinced the feather it belonged to someone else. Does a child live at a nearby house? I considered it. Actually, no. Could it have belonged to a neighborhood child walking by? And she went on. Had they bought it somewhere and then dropped it? She seemed set on believing that it had been lost by a person and it belonged, not to me, but to someone else.
Did I need to explain there were hawks in the neighborhood? Did I need to say, there’s a nearby tree where I’d seen ravens and the occasional hawk? I didn’t want to explain or analyze or concern myself with such things.
I believed a hawk had molted it. And it was meant for me.
Maybe it’s like believing there’s a little magic and mystery left in the adult world.
Maybe that person had no more magic.
Of all things in life, I choose to indulge in the ever small myths and mysteries of found objects.