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Art

To Fly

This is one of the last parts of my black and white series.

“Birds on a Wire”

Birds on a WireFor my Dad – who always admired birds.

“Only the good die young.” – Billy Joel

15 replies on “To Fly”

[…] The mama bird had been hiding and protecting her eggs. That morning, there were three little baby doves popping their heads out of the nest. They were adorable. They weren’t the featherless, ugly little buggers some birds hatch. These birds hatched with fuzzy little feathers and were already a considerable size. Sadly, something happened to the mother a few days later. She had completely disappeared. So, we took in the babies and raised them. The day we had to set them free, I cried like a baby. Then, it was later explained to me that those birds were called “Mourning Doves” for their distinct coo-ing sound that resembles someone sobbing. That only made them more special to me, having lost my father at a young age, and his strangely coincidental love of birds. […]

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