Once upon a time, there lived a girl in New Hampshire. She was Grace. She had a strange hobby of collecting feathers which fell from the wings of birds. Her father had asked her once why she liked collecting feathers. She replied, "It is the only good thing I'll do on this earth." This was her reply when she was only eleven years old. What made her father dumbfounded was the fact that his daughter, who was barely stepping into teens, was talking in parables. Her father calmly smiled to reassure her that he believed her. He never did. Why? Her father never bothered to decipher the parable because somewhere, in his clear conscience, he mistook her parable for her innocence. Grace grew up to be a very smart woman. For a girl who could speak in parables when she was eleven, it was obvious she would turn out to be a bright woman. Wherever she went, she carried a book. It was thicker than two thesauruses. She would stick the feathers she found on the road or anywhe...