Angel Christian

Love Birds

No one came to visit anymore, at least not for a long time. The old farmer used to come in, look up to the rafters and greet me. “Good morning Mister.” I would usually blink a couple of times and move about, my way of speaking back. It was our morning ritual. When it gets lonesome, I find a nice large oak tree near the house, and peek in on the family, now and again. The horses had all been escorted to the newly built barn. Only rusty tools and a couple of saddles remained. I had grown accustomed to having the entire space all to myself.