Frank E Gibbard Posted November 16, 2009 Share Posted November 16, 2009 A cold wind nipped across the Pennines, it was a bleak one this day he reckoned, Tom tugged his muffler tight to his neck. Withering cold and no prospects of much to warm the cockles at all any time soon. Weary, his homing pigeon, was a goner, high time to admit the raw pain to himself no more craning in anticipation of the dot. She'd been a jewel, best ever bird bar none. more of a friend to this old man than his ex. Weary, always the fast friend, loyal worker, the non-fancier would not know the frisson holding an exhausted homer up in two hands against your cheek feeling a rapid heart beat staying beside the loft two creatures in sleep. The loft vacant but for a few stray feathers, undeniably the partnership was terminated. Tom pressed a single feather into the pages of the flying log which he shut incomplete no arrival time being entered for the flight, that last blighted journey to hang as mystery like those thousands of miles winged away. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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