Shut off your sences and see what i see. In front of you appears to be a bowl filled with water. You stick your hand in;yet it'S NOT wet at all. Do you see what i see. In this bowl of indecision, oppertunities swim. Some stright foward while others are unclear...hidden even in the shadow of your hand. You dig and scuffel and long for what you thought was promise. Just as the trap closes it dances through your fingers and appears to disappear. Frustrated with chance you pull back your hand. In your palm clear as day, a white feather there it lay. Holding your breath, willing it to lye. Slowly near the seam it turns black as die. Once so light weights like tons,hot as white brand you scream as it burns. Blinking rapidly the pain goes away. Clear as crystal your hand is in a bowl filled with clay. You shake your hands away with the memory. Sure that you see what you see in you hand is a red puckered print of a feather.