Acts of a feather

I spend the morning basking in
the streams of sunlight that bear
down through a half cracked,
dirty old window.

And with the breeze I am pushed
across the shelf, where I meet
the edge. Stop. think and whisk
over to my fate.

On the way down I am enticed by
the crossing breath of air and I am
moved by it. So, UP! I am tossed
like I mean to do so.

I travel gracefully about the room
until finally I grow tired of the motion
I seek a soft place to just lie, and let
to be alone.

So I spend the evening basking in the
gentle kisses of the sun as it pours in
through an old shut up window. And here
I remain quietly.