061/100 aka 201/365

FEATHERS AND RAINCOATS  
Word Count: 499

My task for the week was to find a pink feather.

My quests start on a Sunday and end at midnight on Friday. Saturday I rest, like the Lord. Or no, that was his Father, I guess, and it was Sunday He rested but I’m really not walking the walk, if you know what I mean.

It was raining, I remember that. A pouring, beating-bullets-into-the-sidewalk kind of rain that didn’t need thunder for audio effect. I wore a green plastic raincoat that still had the folds from the box my mother had gifted it in. It came with a matching rainhat I didn’t remember seeing. I would have hated it even more. I stuffed the hat in the coat pocket, unable to separate the set without guilt. Like slicing the weak twin off at the heartline. I imagined the hat would crinkle and die if I left it behind.

No fair going to a store and just buying a feather; that was part of the deal. I went to the park. Birds, I figured. Feathers should really be everywhere in a park where birds are so there.

I walked for three hours. The rain never let up and the wind kicked in. I got four compliments on my rain gear–including the hat since I had forgotten to take an umbrella.

Monday through Thursday were dry, both in the weather and my search for the pink feather, which by now I had made up my mind could be anything from light mauvey rose to a deep-gutted coral. I went to the library looking up birds and wouldn’t you know, there were few in this part of the country that held any hope of possessing the feather I needed. The throat of a hummingbird, the teeny chest patch of a rosy grosbeak, housefinches, and of course, the cardinals were much much too bold red. So I watched for birds, followed their flight, hoping for a single feather to work its way loose, fluttering to my feet in a moment of destiny for which once in my life I’d be ready.

By Friday morning I was really quite frantic and had to come up with a new strategy. I walked the downtown sidewalks, so tempted by storefronts that displayed clothing and earrings and trinkets that held promise but I didn’t sway. My honesty impressed and depressed me.

Then it was there just in front of me, as if there really are answered prayers. A little girl, a pink jersey, purple shorts and a pink pocketbook with–yes, a swirl of pink feathers! And time was ticking down. My heartbeat was close to arrhythmia. My breaths were near panting. It took some maneuvering, wheedling, and yes a quick swipe and a run. I held it aloft as I sprinted toward home, the wailing fading away in my ear.

This week the prize is a book by Voltaire. And bookstores and libraries, of course, are strictly off limits.