I had been out at the lake for three days, and I had spent most of it sleeping, but that morning I had awoken feeling fresh and rested for the first time in weeks, and the sun was coming up. There in the April morning all of my troubles melted away; yet in the back of my mind I knew it was respite at best.
Kirsty had been gone for just over a month and I still found myself talking to her over my shoulder, noticing a TV show in the paper that would interest her or just including her in my thinking when something moved me;
“Look at that sunrise, baby. Oh how I wish you could see this.”
On the treeline I heard a noise, and turning to look I saw that a young doe was staring right at me, her deep black eyes shining in the morning light, like obsidian mirrors.
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