plume

It fell from the sky and decended to earth,

An uncomfortable pin feather of a passing pigeon , An unexpected beauty that can only be felt by its captive audience, Feelings of delight and poetry fluttering around a labyrinth of uncertainty. It floated weightlessly without haist and landed hopeless on a sandy weed stricken ground, waiting motionless for a passing breeze to move it a couple of feet to a nearby footpath where its delicate angel white fluttering fluff Would be crushed and ground into the filth of the passing imortals. Condemned to mortality its remains would stay and be buried along side the accumulated waste that keeps generating on a putridly furtive suburban street.