"Feathers have always fascinated me. I don't like them when they're on birds, by all means no. I like feathers when I find them on the ground. I like feathers when they have been taken from a bird by force, cunning, or gravity. Finding a feather all by itself is a great pleasure because it means that some bird has failed to keep track of all of his fluff and is now running around with less of it. I think it helps alleviate my jealousy and helps me remember that no matter how far some people climb, they still make mistakes. Every time I see a man better off than myself, I remember his feathers fall." He spun an eagle pinion in his fingers, watching it circle lazily.
She nodded sagely, wrapping his wife's bathrobe tighter around her waist. She wasn't being paid to point out his irony.
Poor birds with less fluff. It's not like they mean to lose feathers.
ReplyDeleteI know, right? Well, I like feathers anyway.
ReplyDeleteWhat about hair?
ReplyDeleteLoved (I'm not sure if this is sarcasm) the irony.
Sarcasm? Hm.
ReplyDeleteWell, I wrote the first bit and then thought of the last two lines, so it's rather like a prose sonnet, in a way.
Indeed. Yay for Shakespeare.
ReplyDelete