Table with a feather, 24 April 2020

Luminous days, despite looming economic difficulties. In this part of the world furniture and anything no longer wanted is put on the grassy verge  beside the road. We put  a book box out there with old classics like Leaves of Grass, Australian Short Stories, Raymond Chandler, even the Wife of Bath. At the other end of the long street, down the hill, someone had put an office chair out. Behold, by the end of the day the chair had mysteriously moved all the way up the road to perch beside the books, for peaceful browsing.

Finding a perfect feather s is considered a sign by First Nations people. 'When you need a feather, it appears' said Ben, a Crow man at an Indigenous  Conference I once attended in Upper NY State in the Iroquois Confederacy. I was not allowed to attend the gatherings, but looked after two Yolngu women from Arnhemland. Ben wanted to give us a Crow blessing, and got out a little leather pouch with dried sweet herbs, to light and make the smoke. But he needed a feather to fan the small smouldering flame. And suddenly, there was a feather near by, a crow feather of course. A sign of concordance, and recognition. 'The god whose oracle is at Delphi neither reveals nor conceals, but gives a sign,' said Heraclitos.

Diana Wood Conroy, 'Table with a feather', watercolour on Arches paper 15 x 21 cm, 24 April 2020