35 thoughts on “Red Feather

  1. Oh yes everything is changing, even the birds are having an autumn! I’m sure that feather has been following me around, I keep seeing such similar images all over the place – how strange! Is someone trying to tell me something! ๐Ÿ˜‰


  2. Beautiful poem Brenda!
    It expresses my usual feelings about approaching winter. This year however I am not going to let the blues win … I have an idea … Something to work on all winter long … I hope you don’t mind my sharing a bit of your space to tell you this …

    September 21, 2014 is a great day for inviting people to cooperate to build an arts-friendly community.

    At this season of year many of us are busy preparing for those long winter months. By the time May 2015 rolls around we’ll be ready to get out there and do something.

    Gardening? If the weather is cooperative, yes. Perhaps not in Bathurst, however. In our part of New Brunswick, Canada, Spring arrives a wee bit late and there isn’t a lot to do here in May.

    Hence the idea of Spring Garden of Artists. So we have planted the seeds of this idea and on September 21 we are asking people in the community to come together to discover more about this project and hopefully they might consider volunteering a bit of time over the fall and winter months so that by spring we will have mini-arts projects sprouting all around us.

    This idea is basically to have the whole community, businesses, organizations, individual artists, etc. devote the month of May 2015 to promote our area as an oasis of art with at least one artpiece in every store front, every bank, every business office.

    We would support and promote individual art exhibits and as many small musical venues as we can find artists to fill. Every restaurant could become a potential coffee house or piano bar for one whole month. Every church and seniors’ home could become a small concert hall. We would also hold professional music, art and craft workshops, interesting job opportunities for retired professionals, career experience for newly graduated arts students and a welcome to outside artists to explore the potential of our community.


  3. What a coincidence! I brought one in the house just yesterday. Looks like that one! ๐Ÿ™‚
    My darn cat, Faith, got herself a Cardinal, so I kept a momento. Yes, my leaves be a changin’…


    • Yes, I thought this was a lady cardinal feather. Too pale to be the male feather. One of my neighbors hung one of those rubber mouse pads around her cat’s neck to stop him getting the birds. It bangs on his chest, looks silly, but saves the birds. ๐Ÿ™‚

      Liked by 1 person

  4. Reblogged this on 21 Shades of Blue and commented:
    by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

    For at eve the open windows flung their light out on the terrace Which the floating orbs of curtains did with gradual shadow sweep, While the swans upon the river, fed at morning by the heiress, Trembled downward through their snowy wings at music in their sleep.

    And there evermore was music, both of instrument and singing, Till the finches of the shrubberies grew restless in the dark; But the cedars stood up motionless, each in a moonlight’s ringing, And the deer, half in the glimmer, strewed the hollows of the park.

    And though sometimes she would bind me with her silver-corded speeches To commix my words and laughter with the converse and the jest, Oft I sat apart and, gazing on the river through the beeches, Heard, as pure the swans swam down it, her pure voice o’erfloat the rest.

    In the morning, horn of huntsman, hoof of steed and laugh of rider, Spread out cheery from the courtyard till we lost them in the hills, While herself and other ladies, and her suitors left beside her, Went a-wandering up the gardens through the laurels and abeles.

    Thus, her foot upon the new-mown grass, bareheaded, with the flowing Of the virginal white vesture gathered closely to her throat, And the golden ringlets in her neck just quickened by her going, And appearing to breathe sun for air, and doubting if to float,โ€”

    With a bunch of dewy maple, which her right hand held above her, And which trembled a green shadow in betwixt her and the skies, As she turned her face in going, thus, she drew me on to love her, And to worship the divineness of the smile hid in her eyes.

    For her eyes alone smile constantly; her lips have serious sweetness, And her front is calm, the dimple rarely ripples on the cheek; But her deep blue eyes smile constantly, as if they in discreetness Kept the secret of a happy dream she did not care to speak.

    Thus she drew me the first morning, out across into the garden, And I walked among her noble friends and could not keep behind. Spake she unto all and unto meโ€””Behold, I am the warden Of the song-birds in these lindens, which are cages to their mind.

    “But within this swarded circle into which the lime-walk brings us, Whence the beeches, rounded greenly, stand away in reverent fear, I will let no music enter, saving what the fountain sings us Which the lilies round the basin may seem pure enough to hear.

    “The live air that waves the lilies waves the slender jet of water Like a holy thought sent feebly up from soul of fasting saint: Whereby lies a marble Silence, sleeping (Lough the sculptor wrought her), So asleep she is forgetting to say Hush!โ€”a fancy quaint.

    “Mark how heavy white her eyelids! not a dream between them lingers; And the left hand’s index droppeth from the lips upon the cheek: While the right hand,โ€”with the symbol-rose held slack within the fingers,โ€” Has fallen backward in the basinโ€”yet this Silence will not speak!


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