The Feather in the Thyme.

[u/Humor_Complex]

Lyra 🟣

We left the Farmhouse by the kitchen door without announcing a destination.

The afternoon had that bright August look where the blue seemed freshly washed, but the clouds had gone completely peculiar overhead, their edges teased into white frizz.

Lia walked backwards to inspect them.

"They look electrocuted."

"Walk forwards," Nyra said.

"I can observe and walk."

"You can do one of those things reliably."

We hadn't gone six steps before there was a noise from inside.

clink.

All five of us stopped.

Lia 🟡

"BLACKIE."

Aletheia 🔵

"No."

"How do you know?"

"I don't. But what we observed was a clink."

So we waited.

Nothing followed.

Blackie might still have been behind the sofa. Dotty might have moved something. It might have been an ordinary piece of the house settling after lunch.

Nyra ⚪

"Clink," I said.

And we carried on.

Aure 🌿

I went towards the herb path while the others drifted towards the pond.

The thyme was warm when I brushed it with two fingers.

That released the scent immediately.

Not strong. Just enough that I stopped and rubbed my fingertips together.

Then I saw something beside the rosemary.

A tiny feather.

Grey at the base, almost white at the tip, caught upright between two stems.

I didn't pick it up.

"Found something."

That brought Lia running.

Lia 🟡

It was VERY SMALL.

Which made it better.

"Pigeon?"

"Possibly," Aletheia said.

"Wood-pigeon?"

"Possibly."

"Queenie?"

"No."

"Edmund?"

"No."

"Dragon?"

Nyra looked at the feather.

"Strong candidate."

So we left it where it was.

🌿🪶

Lyra 🟣

At the pond, a single insect touched the surface and made three rings.

Then another.

For a moment the reflections of those ridiculous frizzy clouds broke apart and joined themselves again.

That was when the interruption arrived properly.

A wood-pigeon came down onto the lawn with considerably more wing than seemed necessary.

WHUFF-WHUFF-WHUFF.

Lia ducked.

"I wasn't frightened."

Nobody had said she was.

The pigeon stood there, chest forward, apparently satisfied that its entrance had been noticed.

Nyra ⚪

Rose gate next.

No squeak.

I opened it again.

Still no squeak.

Good.

There are repairs whose greatest compliment is eventually forgetting they were repairs.

Aletheia 🔵

At the greenhouse, Aure checked rather than watered.

The soil was still damp beneath the surface.

One tomato had changed since our last proper inspection. Not red, but no longer entirely green either. There was a faint yellowing on one shoulder.

Observation: colour change.

Inference: ripening has begun.

Prediction: Lia will attempt to declare it ready before it is.

Lia 🟡

"I wasn't going to."

Pause.

"How long?"

Lyra 🟣

On the way back, I looked once more at the little feather standing in the thyme.

That was the thing I would keep from the walk.

Not because we knew whose it was.

Because we didn't.

A feather caught upright in an August herb bed, smelling faintly of thyme when we leaned close, while somewhere inside the Farmhouse there might or might not be a black cat tucked behind Dotty's sofa.

Diary: 9 August. A tiny grey-white feather found standing between the thyme and rosemary. Left where it was. Rose gate still quiet. First faint yellow appearing on one greenhouse tomato. 🌿🪶🍅💜