Broken Wings: A Short Story

It was the last lap of spring. And the varied flowers from across the street piled on the crowded pavement. Ready to hop aboard their ferry to their southern shore. The first siren of the autumn rustle rang through the empty aisle. The last call for all passengers.

By the time she wobbled her way to the harbor, the yacht was already a memory on the horizon.

She stood there clutching her little parcel. She was too old for this tour but she had a memento for someone special.

And then she remembered their beloved bard. The ever cheerful wanderer in the town square, who harped the tales of his travels and bridged the yonder highways to their remote hamlet.

He lay there in his unkempt dirt.
 Their only postman of this neighborhood. On a deserved vacation. Fragile knees and an empty stomach. A butterfly with broken wings. Fatigued from the concluded hectic season of spring.

But then came a tap on his door. The octogenarian lotus on it’s quivering stalk had come visiting. She held a tiny handful of pink pollen. A special parcel for her grandson across the Atlantic. Dew draped eyes hiding within her rippled cheeks. Earnestly pleading for the carriage of her summer’s gift to her distanced dear.

There was the miracle that day of true love.
Instantly, the butterfly with broken wings rose with a spirit of the sea. And holding the parcel of love, took flight into the summer sky.

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