feathers and stones

sometimes I counted the feathers and the stones, because there was time. and sometimes I came up smiling (and wanting to wash my hands, as who knows where those feathers have been?), I counted and I had far more feathers than stones, I was happy. and sometimes I came up sad as the bag of stones was too heavy to lift to be counted (reaching for a cold fizzy drink).

and at the time it DOESN'T MATTER. it doesn't! you do what you do, you count your feathers and stones, and you move on. sometimes you don't even count them. you just glance over one of your shoulders and you can see them there, and feel comforted by the knowledge of having some feathers. any number of feathers.

but after it starts to matter. you see your past through different types of glass; stained, frosted, clear, anti-reflection and finally through that new pair of spectacles you bought from the fancy shop. and that's when you realise – no one should be counting in the first place.