I can still remember walking up to John and Nikki’s campsite as John finished the last installment to his altar. It was an altar made entirely of feathers carefully placed into the bark of a gnarled but beautiful old tree; by this point, nothing he could have done would have surprised me, and this was no exception. John and his twin-flame Nikki had become like family to me in such a short time. I listened as he told me about how he had collected each and every one of what must have been hundreds of feathers, and told me stories of how some of them had come into his life. For John, this was the how universe communicated. Each feather had a story; a meaning; and I listened raptly to every one he told me.

Some feathers were the universe’s way of warning him. Some were simply gifts for goods deeds, or a sign of good fortune to come. He believed that if you pay enough attention, the universe will give you clues but they aren’t always easy to decipher. I remember he once talked about being a child and finding a stone or rock. You’re not sure why, but something about that stone or that rock resonates with you, and it feels like it belongs to you almost as if the rock has chosen you instead of you choosing it. For him, these weren’t childish fantasies but the universe’s way of reaching out to teach you something or show you something.

As he spoke, I couldn’t help but remember a time when I had found my own little treasure: a golden yellow rock the size of my palm. I knew the moment I saw it that it was mine, and I remember fighting to keep it. At the time, I was hanging around much older children and I don’t know if was my interest in the rock that stirred their curiosity, but before I knew it there was a battle to see which of us could own it, and I lost. I remember learning something important that day: these so-called friends had taken something I consider precious from me just because they could, and in that moment I realized that I was nothing to them. Tragic, I know, but while you can call what you will, in a roundabout way the universe had shown me who my real friends were, and who they weren’t.

For John it wasn’t just about receiving and collecting though. It was important to him that he gave back to the universe whenever he could. After all, love is a two-way street. This altar was both an offering to the universe and a sign of gratitude for its guidance. He said something that stuck with me. We are always so focused on what we are receiving that sometime we don’t think about what we are giving in return. It’s so easy to just keep collecting and never allowing yourself to let go and make room something more. His alters were that: A silent message of gratitude and love, as well as a symbolic gesture that he was ready for more and was willing to make room for what was to come.

I asked him if he’d mind if I photographed his altar. I was struck by the simple beauty of it, and in the simple truths behind the magic of it all. There was a childlike innocence to this belief that the universe would send you feathers, and that this small gesture can guide you on your path. I was amazed by that idea. These feathers had become part of him. They were his small reminders; the universe’s way of telling him everything was okay. You are who you were always meant to be.

I didn’t know it then, but I was about to get an unexpected surprise. As I opened a box of photo proofs I had received from my lab several days later and stared at the images I had created of John’s altar, the strangest thing happened: a small feather landed on my head. I have been finding feathers ever since.

At first I didn’t want to believe, but as I stared at that small feather a slow smile spread across my lips. Magic, after all, is choosing to believe in the tiny coincidences around you, seeing the connections in the madness, and being able to turn something random and unexpected into something beautiful and pure. I think we forget that; something about growing older, I am sure. We let the mundane in our lives take our curious nature and the childlike innocence that allows us to see magic where others nothing but coincidence and strings of good luck instead of choosing to embrace the beauty in the unknown, accepting things as the come and people for who they are, learning to see an opportunity to grow and change, or better yet tuning something as simple as a feather into something magical and pure. You can call it a coincidence if you wish, but I call it magic because I believe that everything happens for a reason.

I still find feathers to this day, and I cannot help but pause as the universe sends me another sign: another small reminder that I am the way I was meant to be, and that I have done something that the universe is proud of, (like rescuing a kitten from the heat and being reward by a small black and white feather the color of the kitten’s coat) or better yet, that I am about to.

To think: it all started with a simple gesture; a desire to document something I found beautiful and simple, and a crazy couple that dared me to believe in magic.

Join us later this week for another side tangent; only this time, instead of raccoons we are talking about opossums and B shares how we learned how the author of The Princess Bride (probably) came up with the inspiration for the Rodents of Unusual Size.