Ever since I’ve known Margo, she’s collected feathers. Margo says she’s done that since she was a little girl. She treats every feather she finds like a lost child who needs to be rescued and nurtured by her.
If we’re on a walk and she finds one on the ground, she’ll pick it up and keep it close. She can’t walk by and ignore it. She must have it.
And she won’t let go of it once she’s got it. It has to travel with her between her fingers. There is a lot of touching going on. She grooms it, spins it, and uses it as a pointer when talking to me about things she spots in the trees, dunes, or out at sea. The two of them become good friends during our walk. And the feather must come home with us. She’ll carry it all the way back and find a special place to put it, and that’s where it’ll stay.
If she finds one while doing the gardening, it goes into the crack of a log for safekeeping.
If one lands in the pool, its tip gets jammed between two pool tiles.
Whatever is closest becomes an instant home for Margo’s baby feathers, waiting for a time when it’ll grow up and be included in one of her future creative explosions.
Until then, handy cracks, splits, and holes will become home to Margo’s orphaned feathers. Yes, they have a new mother to look after them; now, she is in charge of their well-being.
I’ll post the results here when there’s an artistic project in development.
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