A long time ago before I even knew where Sardinia was, one of my beloved aunts told me that if you see a white feather in your path, you should take it as a sign you are on the right road, as it was probably left there by an angel.
Since then I have often looked down, at cracked pavements and country lanes, searching for something left behind, by an angel, or perhaps by a pigeon, as a helpful hint, a reminder to keep going.
On Saturday, under the blue skies stretching over our house in the Sardinian hills, I looked up instead of down, and found these feathers blessing us and our bumpy road, reminding me it is the right place to be.
Perhaps I should have told our neighbour, who double locks his doors and keeps a gun in the house, afraid that ISIS will arrive unannounced in the night.
When I heard this I thought of our home in Beirut, where we barely locked our door, and sometimes slept with the windows open onto the terrace, armed only with the sense that we were in the right place at the right time.