When they fall
they float weightlessly
to the ground
with the next gust of wind
to continue their journey
I discover them everywhere, among the autumn leaves and beside kerbs, under park benches and on cycle paths. They are blown away by gusts of wind and flattened by car tyres, ignored by passers-by, swept from doorsteps. They play undiscovered games in the air, are ruffled up in some plumage or stretch themselves on the earthy ground. They journey around their small world, with no idea of their next destination, they have no expectations, nor haste nor boredom, know nothing of worries and fears. They always land softly and wait for the wind to carry them off again. Their protection is that they have no value.
They appear very ordinary at first, one looking very much like the other, some people even find them horrible.
But is not every single one of them simply beautiful? It can stand like a ballerina, balanced on its quill, proudly and grandly presenting two very different sides. Tiny, almost invisible hairs join together to create a solid surface, which constantly changes colour from one subtle shade to another, brightening up the grey with all the colours of the rainbow. It demonstrates the wear and tear of life with bends and kinks, wide open rips and sticky fluff. But always in an honest way and with unbroken pride.