Angels

The storm had come and gone. Outside, a blanket of snow, ice, blackbirds flying over head. He tore old pieces of wheat bread and threw them out in the covered yard. Later in the afternoon he would see birds eating his gifts. He’d smile.

With the sun peaking through clouds, he opened the window shades bringing in more light. He turned off The Price Is Right and just sat there. Sun beams pouring in on him. Drinking coffee.

He lit a cigarette and stood up. Walked to the kitchen and looked outside again. He thought of making snow angels like when he was a kid. His whole family would be outside making snow angels; sister, mother, dad, bundled up baby. All having a wonderful time. And then one day, the snow melted. No more angels.

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