ordinary feather, and i stop and look at them lying there, and hear the thick air being quiet. someone laughs somewhere, then stops laughing -- the particular sound of something being only a little bit funny. i walk on, past the feather, and picture it back there, and wonder if anyone else will see it, picture myself walking, and wonder if anyone will see me. i hold onto this wonder for only a brief moment. everything should be as simple as possible, but no simpler. fog, a feather, the particular sound of a bus pulling away from the stop. 