<p style="text-align:center;"><em>By Guest Blogger Chicken Wrangler Sara</em></p>
As I was walking back to the chicken yard last week a feather fell from the sky. It was quite small and very white. In fact, if it were colder outside I might have mistaken it for a snowflake.

I stood still for a minute to see if more were forthcoming. Or perhaps an entire bird was soon to follow. That would be one way to increase our flock.

Neither of these things happened. I picked the feather up and put it in my pocket thus confirming that it was not a snowflake.<a href="https://judythewriter.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/feather.jpg"><img class="aligncenter wp-image-5677 size-medium" src="https://judythewriter.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/feather.jpg?w=269" alt="feather" width="269" height="300" /></a>

I remember as a child taking walks with my grandfather around the lake near their apartment in Austin. One time I picked up a feather. This one was not white and was much larger. My grandfather put it in his Bible where it remained until his death.

As life gets more hectic and being a grownup becomes harder, it was nice to reconnect with a childhood pastime of picking up feathers. Perhaps I should keep this little white feather in my Bible for when I feel childish.