The Robins were merrily hopping up and down the rows I mowed. We were having a grand conversation. I pondered creating a pattern to see if they would hop in circles, crisscross or through a maze. One was particularly industrious. Another a troubadour alerting others to fresh mowed grass. The third more intentional and not as scurried. I suspect it was he or she that left the feather.

I had just finished the row and was making my way back when the gift presented itself. I confess, I squealed. It seems a long time since I’ve found a feather. They are the whispers of grace. Holding the feather to my heart I bowed and gave thanks. The three then flew away.

The grace is the feather. And the whisper? Giggle..sometimes grace is enough. Simply enough.