For years my husband has been picking up feathers for me. I don’t know what it is I love so much about them, I just know I do. In Florida, he finds a lot of peacock feathers, but here in North Carolina, it’s usually turkey feathers. As it turns out, our cat, Pippi, also loves feathers, so I’ve had to keep them far out of reach from frisky paws.
For as long as I can remember I have kept a feather in a cup of pens on my desk. Maybe it’s linked to my love of history, but I enjoy the symbolism of the quills famously used by early writers. My vase of feathers has long been a conversation piece in our home, although it’s not as noticeable these days perched on a high mantle, thanks to Pippi.
I now know feathers are hard to photograph. I think what makes them so special is what also makes them hard to capture with a camera. Each unique color and barb seems to absorb light differently. Even using my Nikon 60mm macro lens I wasn’t getting the sharpness I wanted, so I defaulted to some more artistic close-ups.
“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul . . . ” ~