While picking up trash by the river, I came across a pile of flicker feathers under a small thicket of willows. It was a mix of emotions to find them—saddened to see that a beautiful bird had been killed and fascinated at the beauty and patterns of all the feathers. It was also a mystery. There were so many feathers. It was like the predator took the time to neatly pluck all of the feathers out before it ate the flicker. There wasn’t any sign of the body of the bird and there wasn’t any blood on the ground or on any of the feathers. It felt like the predator recognized the beauty of the bird and wanted to honor the life it had taken by carefully plucking the feathers to preserve their beauty.
