By Raney Wolfers, age 12

Midnight strands of silk blowing in the soft breeze.
Shining like a thousand raven’s feathers twisting and fluttering.
Thin braids speckle the hair winding it like a river.

Nestled among the strands, two feathers.
One long and slender striped with cream and oak, it speckles and flashes, tattered and frayed, almost singed, the
other, a brilliant crimson with a wide plume.

This slender feather, one of the many tail feathers of a young, speckled Ladycrow.
Her eyes bright and curious, her sleek and soft feathers neatly arranged and flattened.
Her creamy, delicate head speckled with dark stars of night and a flat arrowhead beak.

And her tail.
Four of the famous feathers, giving her the regal air of an eagle and the daintiness of a chickadee.
She is a bird of power and destiny.

Only the girls with the deepest of souls and the brightest of spirits are awarded her feather.
The largest of four is shed in late July when strawberries burst and streams run clear.

This feather, my feather, one of the largest, a 16-inch arrow of air and wind floated from the oldest of oak trees.
Collected by the girls of the trees and skies.
They hang for months until a girl is chosen.
A girl with fierce love and a kindling power within.

The feather is bestowed to her, a medallion hair piece woven and knotted, until she too, is one with the skies and
the streams, the damp soil between her toes, the ocean of grasses and soft new shoots.
She rises with her creamy glowing face and striped feather, hair glimmering like a thousand crow feathers.