She Collects Feathers

The month was March, early March. The snow quietly lays in patches across the front garden. The sunlight has changed from tinted grey yellow to a brighter buttercup shade.

Warmth is on its way. The time is early morning as she writes in her journal. The scratching of the fountain pen is constant company. She is writing about collections – the various mementos people often keep in tiny decorated boxes for various reasons. She often ponders why others perform this ritual. Some collect openly, and discuss their finds with enthusiasm. Some collect in secret – their treasures becoming something that gives one comfort as they are checked and rechecked nightly before one enters his or her world of dreams.