David Cope

Darkest Hour David Cope

He looked down and found a solitary piece of turf looking out of the earth alongside him, in any event a foot if not two against some other soil spread. A loner, like him. Looking up again, he saw the bird of prey again. Separated from the rest. This one getting a charge out of an uncommon look at light before freezing in the following winter storm. A slight breeze brushed his cheek like several supple lips might. Not a kiss, yet a teasingly botched chance. He looked upward once again. The winged creature had evaporated.