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In the distance a black spot soared high above the church.

“The harbinger of death is near,” the old man murmured as his head bounced and swayed in his wheel chair.

“Dad you are crazy,” she pushed on passed the church.

“Stop here. I’ll show you.”

She stopped, puzzled.

Shaking legs mustered their last bits of liver spotted grace as the old man stood.

Reaching into his pocket he produced a bit of bird seed scattering it.

A small swarm of black crows landed in front of them their beaks clicking against the pavement.

“See?” he said.

“Yes Dad. Some birds,” she huffed anxious to leave.

“No, Daughter. A murder,” his face cracked wide into a warm old man smile as she shook her head.

Clocktower

Clocktower

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June 15th, 2015

Posted In: Sunday Photo Fiction

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