(^ not an actual category but I couldn’t name this post because I’ve only had one venti coffee so far this morning)
This past weekend I was walking my
boyfriend’s dog in the woods and I found a hawk feather so brown and majestic and thrilling I took a picture of it. Then I found another and another and soon I was holding like six hawk feathers, just waiting to find a hawk carcass and thinking my good omen was going to turn into a very bad omen. When that didn’t happen, I thought maybe I’d make a trinket out of the feathers as a symbol of bad ass birding to put in my room and remind me to kill things like mice with my good vision and sharp talons. Then I passed someone on the trail and he was all “I see you found some turkey feathers!” They lost their splendor so fast it was like I picked them out of a crafts bin at Michaels.
Life lesson: existence is arbitrary. What we assign weight and meaning to, probably has very little intrinsic weight and meaning, which is a little depressing but mostly fucking awesome. We are free agent creatives with ears and language and opposable thumbs. We get to experience shit then make shit up. How incredible is that?
I didn’t take any turkey feathers home.