SALT FEATHER
In the coastal town of Xabia, a short walk from the smiling Arenal bay beach, thronged with tourists is a still unspoilt section of rocky shore. The natural sandstone is weathered into spiky pools, reached by clambouring up and down stepped remains of the quarried stone, now found decorating villas throughout the Marina Alta. It was here I caught sight of a perfect white feather, caught in a slick of sparkling salt, dried by the late Summer sun. SALT FEATHER Blown on the sea breeze, spiralling down from the soft underwing of a passing gull or placed unseen by an angel's grace, the frosted, snow feather glints. Curled in salt tracery, the lick of seawash left by moontide's swell, trapped in rock dimples, transformed by nature's alchemy into a lustrous, crystalline crisp. The dying rays of the setting sun gift their warming touch, illuminating the perfect semiplume, its crystal net blinking like dew drops dancing on ...