Tiny Feather; Big Sign

Synchronicities

This morning, I saw a post on Facebook with an image of a single white feather in the palm of a woman’s hand and the caption below it said something like, “My angel guides are with me.”

My first reaction was a tiny wave of envy. I never find feathers even though I believe in angels and guardians. I have dreamed of them since I was a little girl. I’ve felt the presence of them near me, and even attribute the presence of my dead grandfather’s spirit to saving my life on another occasion.

The feeling of envy, though, lasted only a moment. There were other signs that made themselves available to me…but still…the sight of those beautiful, white, fluffy feathers seemed to invoke a feeling of comfort and of being really watched over.

For the first time, I wanted that feeling. I wanted to feel vulnerable enough to believe that I needed to see a feather for myself to know that I was, in fact, loved and being cared for on that divinely ethereal plane.

A few hours later, I was taken with an intense desire to clean; not that I really wanted to. My body ached a little, and I was feeling a little washed-out. I looked around at the carpet and thought to myself, “But Susan, you know this carpet could really use a vacuuming, and the kitchen floor could use a mopping…

“Ugg…”

I lifted myself from the position on the love-seat, planted the laptop on the table, and stretched and surveyed the mess.

Where to start…

Somewhat methodically and mechanically at first, I slunk my way over to the sink full of dishes and started filling it with hot, sudsy water. While they soaked, I walked into the laundry room and put on a load of whites to pre-soak. I saw the broom and dustpan and thought it was a sign to sweep the black clouds of dog hair from the floor.

Before too long, most of the work was done and the only thing I needed to do was run the vacuum. I realized I felt so much better. Even still, a little part of me wanted to get back to planning the next steps of a work endeavor. I thought of trying to cut corners with the rest of the housework (think vacuuming), but my conscience wouldn’t let me (damn you conscience!)

I pushed and pulled the light-weight, humming instrument back and forth through the area most lived in until finally reaching the last corner of the room. Grudgingly, I leaned over to grab the long, flowing length of the rose-budded window scarf and the ivy-colored curtains. It’s the thing I liked least about vacuuming. Without fail, the dainty window scarf always seemed to get sucked into the bottom of the vacuum, and I would have to act quickly in order for the cloth not to be damaged by all the spinning parts.

This time, though, would be different!

As I lifted the curtains from the carpet and away from the wall, something tiny and white caught my eye.

That’s right. It was a tiny white feather; only an inch long. I could have easily missed it, but I hadn’t. I stopped the movement of the vacuum even as the feather floated out of my sight and into the whirling air of the vacuum where it disappeared from my sight; but not before a sense of knowing forced a smile across my face.

They are watching and, apparently, listening as well.