When I was younger, I used to listen to the crisp sound of the wind. It stroked through my hair, almost like a bird that ruffled its feathers. Those birds had the freedom of the great unknown, with the wind constantly lifting their quills. Sometimes a feather would break loose, slowly drifting down to the surface. That one feather can represent a wide variety of things as it lightly taps the solid ground. The bird would think nothing of a single feather coming unbound, if it did, it would constantly worry about all its feathers breaking loose. If all a bird’s feathers break loose, that is a sign of death,…