Dreary Weather

Here and there, the bird would reappear, or if it was not the same bird, a bird; it was never any more than one bird, and never for very long was it seen. Still, it was a type of communion, to watch the same thing in silent anticipation.

Here and there, the plaintive call broke over the beach’s soft roar; the bird’s sad voice rose and fell in a moment, leaving no echo but memory in the minds of the two watchers. Sometimes the voice without the sight, sometimes sight without voice, voice and sight together, or none at all.