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The Long Night

It had been a tough night (a terrible night really). They'd both said things they really didn't mean to say. But both knew that what had been said was beyond retract, and no matter how cruel, bore at least the shadow of truth. What had started out as an offhand exchange between a young couple had deteriorated into a verbal brawl between old friends.

They stood in the kitchen staring out the window at the feeder, she in her robe and he in his sweats... Just a couple of sets of eyes, bloodshot from crying and raw exhaustion.

"How could this happen?" she murmured.

"I don't know..." He whispered back.

"My God, do you remember when we used to..."

"Yup," she interrupted.

"You used to call them love birds," he began again. (He was looking out at the mourning doves.)

Her answer was a barely audible whisper. "They fly so beautifully..."

"Yeah, but look at them now... Just scratching at the frozen ground trying to find a seed."

"So that's it," was her response. "Quick flights of grace, and hours of digging in the dirt... Love birds..."

Both drooped their heads even further as if in unison. Their shoulders touched instinctually.

Nothing to do now but grab a couple of hours sleep before facing "BurgerWorld" and "The Mall".

Two doves_2_enh_300.jpg


See you by the feeders,

CapeCodAlan
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