Observation: Evocative Object

It just lies there. It is very sad and abused. Almost like an exotic animal in captivity. This feather is not from around here but yet it is bound to ever fly again. It longs for the air. To be weightless in gravity joined by all its brothers and sisters from the same core joined in unison to defy the impossible. Tattered on the edges, rough down the center, and bound by artistic metal and decor at the bottom, it is now a prisoner. No longer free in the open. You can still see its beauty beyond the scars and bruises. This thing of foreign desire, now a mere pet in every sense. Will  there ever be liberation or has the destiny of wilting away by mere fashion been set forever. Whatever the case, life lives within. WIld lives within the captivity, within the chains. However short the life of the feather it will die in honor for it has seen places we will never go. Who knows the sites it has seen. The mountains of Kilimanjaro, the tops of the redwood trees, or the sands of the desert, we may never know. But the memory will always live on within each strand of colored fiber within its being.