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  • Funny, I was thinking that Cowbird was in its final days just this morning as I walked to school. It is with real tenderness and sorrow I say good-bye. Last night a little writing group here had its first meeting in an Irish pub not far from the palace. Life does move on. You, not cowbird but you, each of you, helped me grow as a writer. I cannot thank you enough for this gift.

    You can find me on Medium. I am writing, got a number of projects going. There is a need for some strong stuff in the days ahead. I am always home for you at benjoyw@gmail.com

    Too late for second chances
    too late for might have beens
    onward
    Keep a light in the window
    keep hope in your heart

    Thank you, thank you, thank you.

    This was my first story on Cowbird. Fitting it should be my last.
    from the heart, always
    benjoy


    Two Step

    We’re all so busy now
    Calendars and inboxes
    Clamoring
    So connected, linked in,
    with an app for every need and
    Coordinates for every location,
    We have so many ways now
    To say so little.
    Our landscapes are
    Stained reminders
    of choices we might have made
    stuck to fridge doors
    others free float on idle desktop screens
    reminding us of where we might be
    but some are alive in memory
    the other connection
    The winter you were two
    we were alone,
    just us three on the island.
    All the houses shuttered tight
    blank and empty.
    In the snow only our tracks
    to the barn
    to the woodpile
    to the shore and back.
    That afternoon we walked through the empty village
    Hats pulled down tight
    So even the step and crunch of our booted feet
    Seemed to echo from far away.
    The gulls already hunkered down along the shore.
    The crows gone silent deep in their forest gloom.
    The last boats already run home
    hurrying for the glimmer of the harbor.
    At the top of the hill we stopped
    to look down across fields
    crusted and white with last week's snow
    and followed the two lines of footprints
    that twisted and wound,
    wandering to where we stood.
    Just us.
    Two figures
    one short
    one tall.
    Above us the light drained
    from the darkening sky.
    Just a streak remained
    just a crack between air and sea
    while all around
    the coarse snow let go
    the light it held
    in a soft pale sigh.
    The wind dropped out
    and the long mutter and chatter of wave on stone
    the restless creak of
    leaning trees
    all hushed now
    and there
    at the top of the hill
    lifted up under the great arch of sky
    I reached down
    and took your hand again.
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