On my daily early morning dog walks I’ve noticed a bright white feather falling slowly and silently in front of me.
Oh yes of course there would be feathers in the woods where the birds nest high in the trees but how many white birds live in the woods high in the trees and drop pure white feathers? After a few days I began to expect a feather to fall.
One morning I wasn’t thinking of feathers, I was remembering my friend Charch who died in April from a brain tumour. A feather dropped and I cried big fat tears. Of course, I recalled the significance of white feathers and Angels; Charch knew she was in my thoughts. She’d slipped me a note (written using a Sailor pen, on Hunky Dory paper with SWALK on the back) to say I know you’re thinking of me.
One of the many conversations we shared was about her dying and she said that she wouldn’t be able to nip back and tell us what her new place was like. Having lived together for years at boarding school it was like she was going to a new dormitory and couldn’t tell us about it. I’ve recently spoken to her mum who is half expecting her to walk through the door from one of her travels or send a postcard.
Oh Charch you crazy girl of course I’ll ring your mum today and tell her you’re OK, that you’ve bagsied the best bed in the dormitory, your new place is full of familiar faces and that you’re safe, happy and well.
And Charch, thanks for the Feathers from Heaven. X