Through it all, the clamour of weaving wings. Bursts of beats with every cheek-kiss; deep swoops up above the rafters; slow flaps and floating glides as we each take our preferred sandwich, triangled so they’re easier to peck at.
And I swear it’s a small feather Cori lifts from my coffee cup!
While we waddle out through the car park, I spy a swan nestled in bulrushes. Cleaning its wings like a contortionist.
Oh what a show, Angie; you would’ve loved this. But never stop beating those mighty wings, wherever you’re soaring to now.
Robert Keal hails from Kent but currently lives in London, where he works as a copywriter. He has recently had work published in 50 Word Stories, Friday Flash Fiction, Entropy Squared, and The Drabble. When not writing, Robert can be found trying to bake the perfect creme brûlée or doing terribly at local pub quizzes.