Memories may fade but true love never dies.
The mantle clock chimed once. Its ‘dinner gong’ tone scurried across the room and died in the corner. A blackbird whistled a jaunty greeting from under the bushes outside the French windows.
He whistled again; calling, demanding. I stepped into the walled garden as he hopped out of the shade of the dull green foliage. Wings of polished ebony, held tight against his body, shone brightly in the sunlight. He bobbed his head once. His sharp yellow beak pointed at me and a glassy eye held me in its blank stare. No, it wasn’t me he was looking for.
|The Picture Fades|