Feathers

Each morning I walk the valley
treading the same worn path,
though no bird flies over the same way twice,
the bees attend different flowers,
cicadas sing where yesterday there were none,
and the hawk is scanning new trees.

A feather lies in wait for me, 
having fallen from the sky.
No feather will fall in quite the same way;
not in this spot, from that height,
to be caught between two heads of rye.

The land looks the same each day
but is different in a thousand small ways.
We wake thinking one day is much like another,
that we are still who we were the day before,
or we can let ourselves be changed.

We are as new as the world we see;
what looks familiar is not.
Notice what is happening,
be the response to your day.
Be delighted, be surprised, 
expect feathers.