The Humming Feather

Chapter 1: The Hum on the Towpath

Afternoon light on the canal, brown and green water sliding past the yellow chimney of the ⟨home⟩ Peapod, and a small girl in red boots walking the muddy towpath with a biscuit tin under one arm.

⟨Character 1⟩: One more feather for the tin. One more, one more, one more. That’s a pigeon one, that’s a duck one, oh and there’s a fluffy one by the reeds. Come here, fluffy one. Into the tin with you. My tin is nearly full and then it will be a proper collection, the best collection on the whole canal, because I found every single one myself.

⟨Character 1⟩: Wait. Wait wait wait. What’s that noise? Mmmmmm. Something is going mmmmmm right by my boot. Oh! Oh oh oh, look at you. A grey feather. Long as my hand and soft as anything. And you’re humming, aren’t you? You’re a humming feather. Hello, humming feather. Nice to meet you.

⟨Character 1⟩: Let me have a listen. Up to my ear you go. Yes! There it is again, mmmm like a bee in a jam jar, buzzing away inside you. You’re going straight in my tin. Straight in. Or, hmm. Your hum is getting a bit louder that way. A bit louder down the path. Alright, humming feather, I can take a hint. Lead on. I’m following.

She hops a wide brown puddle, then a narrow one, then a puddle that isn’t really a puddle at all, just a wet patch, and her boots go slap, slap, slap all the way to the stone bridge.

the lock keeper: Whoa there, little skipper. You’re humming loud enough to turn the lock gates by yourself. Where’s the fire? Mind the wet stones, they’re slippery as a wet fish’s backside.

⟨Character 1⟩: I’m not the one humming! Well. I am a bit. But this feather hums better than me. Listen. Mm-mmm-mmm. It sounds like the canal. Like the water going glug behind the gates. Doesn’t it sound like the canal’s own song?

the lock keeper: It does at that. You hum it back at the water, sweetheart, and the water hums along with you. That’s called keeping time. Course, you’ll need a voice that carries.

⟨Character 1⟩: I’ve got a voice that carries! MMMMM! See? Come on then, feather. Under the bridge we go. Bye, mister lock keeper!

The grey feather lifts in her hand, humming, and pulls her on along the towpath into the cool dark under the bridge, toward the quiet reeds.

Chapter 2: The Quiet Nest

Under the bridge, the towpath bends toward the reeds, and the late sun turns the water orange and soft.

⟨Character 1⟩: Shh. Hush now, feather. Your hum’s gone all quiet. Like a sigh. A soft little mmmm. That’s not a busy bee anymore, that’s a sleepy bee. I’m still following you, don’t worry. My boots are being very quiet. Very, very quiet.

⟨Character 1⟩: Oh. Oh, look at that. Over there by the reeds. A grey bird standing on one leg, tall as anything, still as a gatepost. A heron. And there’s a nest below, all twigs and fluff, with three pale eggs sitting in it like little stones. My feather. That’s your home, isn’t it?

⟨Character 1⟩: I found you on that path and I followed you all this way because I wanted to put you in my tin. Keep you. But you weren’t ever mine to keep, were you? This nest needed you. This whole long hum was you trying to come home. So. Here you go, feather. Back where you belong.

She steps to the nest, among the reeds that whisper and bend, and sets the grey feather down gently with both hands. It rustles in the stems. Then the tall heron dips its head. Once. Slowly, like a polite bow goodnight.

⟨Character 1⟩: Did you see that? He dipped his head at me. Thank you, Mister Heron. And thank you, humming feather, for the adventure. That was the best walk all year. Now look after those eggs, and hum to them at night. Right. Back to Peapod I go. The sun’s already near the edge of the water. Too late for anything but bed.

She walks the towpath home along the brown-green water with her boots going soft on the mud. The heron stands still on its one long leg by its nest and its feather, blinking slowly at the sunset.