February 2015 - Brighton, Ma
A summer bird sung out, it's call quavering timidly over the wintry twilight. It's song was solemn and sleepy, whispering faintly through the air as cars splashed over the sludge-filled street.
She spoke of solstice, of summer. Of warm nights under the same sky to the same song. Of the kiss of sweeter air. Of memories from yore and night skies yet to bloom.
But for now she just fantasized before falling silent. Her song returned to summer, and she to keeping warm.
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