@Willow-oc9pw

11 months ago

The Light House I watch enveloped in envy as the winds continued their expedition through the overgrown coffee hair of the man I had chosen to spend the rest of my life with secluded away. It was already past the usual time for his haircut but I’d been pushing it back for my own contentment. He’d let the birds use his hair as a miniscule playground. Speaking of birds, I think they liked him more when he had longer hair. I make this mental note as I watch Rio hop and land onto his head, a free estate of theirs. He knew he’d have to detangle his hair some time later but for now he enjoyed the additional attention, moving as little as he can. I was itching to approach the fence and just join the birds at playing with his sun dyed coffee hair. But- “coo”; Bobo had just gotten cozy in my lap and it would be a crime to have to move him. So I let Bobo continue to use my muffler as a blanket and he continued to nibble at my finger. He was trying to eat any leftover rice crisp treat leftover from earlier from my fingertips. His rose tinted beak nipped gently against my thinning aged skin. Bobo’s nibbles had interrupted my knitting. I was working at making Archie another scarf for the nearing winter but from the looks of it this one was going to Bobo too; just like the other three. The white color of the scarf looked cozy on the milk tea Bobo it was tucked around and into. Bobo had a particular habit or if I may say; courtesy: to kiss my hand before taking food from it. A bird who could stabilize any racing heart. Archie on the other hand was resting his chin on his arm against the century old iron railing, petting the grey-white feathers of Lulu, while the other thirteen pigeons shared rice krispy treats among themselves. From the back he still looked like the man I’d come here with; not a day older than sixty-five. I wanted to shout to him about being careful and not leaning too much, but I knew it would disturb Bobo who had just shut his orange eyes. Bobo’s velutinous little chest heaved up and down gently with both his wings tucked in. I pulled the scarf so it covered a little more of his little cashmere head. I had to fight off the urge to turn Bobo over so he’d lie on his back and I could give him belly rubs. If a bird bares their stomach to you, rest assured they trusts you with their life. Instead, I tucked Bobo further into the scarf and shifted so I could rock him from the sun. A sound of wings against the winds and Archie, my husband turns around eagerly about to tell me something. As the sun fell on his face, you could tell apart the places where time had kissed him on his face. The eyes and smile lines of a golden retriever, with an everlasting grin; the one of a happy man. Streaks of grey hair visible in the sun, falling over the only part of the face that still held its youth; his dark almond eyes. He had Woonal on his right arm and had frozen still at the moment when his eyes caught Bobo napping on me. He willed himself to relax first, before approaching me slowly and taking off a note from our chestnut pigeon’s feet; a letter had arrived from the other side of the sea. He handed it to me wordlessly, still a fool’s smile playing at his lips. I took it with trembling hands….it’d been exact fifteen years since the day I had run away with someone’s father. Twitter & Instagram= @julyswillow

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