I had a hard time draping the black veil over my beak and the gloves fit awkwardly over my wings, but no one can say I'm not trying. I've been walking slowly, head bowed, feathers blowing gently in the morning breeze, my dignity and grief evident to the briefest glance. "Years from now," my appearance says, "I may be able to set aside these black clothes and go on with my life. But not yet."
Did I say years? I meant four years.Posted by dianna at November 3, 2004 10:26 AM