Feathers were fluttering from the pine tree in my courtyard the other day. When I looked up at the source, nondescript bird parts were lodged in the spiny needles overhead. The wind distributed them onto my sidewalk according to weight and size. Now all that's left up in that tree, after a couple of days of gravity and wind are downy tufts. I've seen a hawk swooping in my neighborhood in suburban Chicago, so I suspect he dropped the unsuitable plumage where he thought it would do the most good — at the feet of an artist.