Whippoorwill

She had received a letter that morning from her lover. It was a simple note reading, “Are you coming? I love and miss you.” The words repeated themselves to her throughout the day.

Her husband cradled her head against his shoulder, brown hand stroking her forehead like a child. It was evening and the cicadas began their single-note song. Their call grew stronger and louder as the cool of the shadows reached the pair sitting on the back porch. The strength of their call belied the shortness of their lives. Their existence focused on a single note. The sun touched the horizon and the sky slipped from blue to pink to violet. The woman loved this half-lit world with the voices of birds a soothing echo. Low in the sky, swallows made circles, riding up the thermals. A mockingbird chased the big orange tabby across the yard as he made his way home for dinner. He ignored his tormentor. Tomorrow would bring new opportunities to deprive the bird of its feathers.