Old Dusty Desk

He drew the blinds open to peer out the picture window. There had been a thump outside. What could have made such a noise?

The glare was bright and stung his old eyes, beating him back a pace. A shaking hand slowly rose to block out the pain.

Watery eyes reacted, pupils contracted. A goldfinch bounced on a branch in the breeze.

Such an amazing little creature. It sang, happy and free. He listened.

A nagging ensued. It was the arthritis in shriveled knees. Stupid bird. What was he doing here? He shuffled away, back to the old dusty desk.

Image linked via Addicted to Purple. (100 words exactly)


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