Howling wind strafed the runway, rang the steeple bells, edged into every crease in the glass, filled every nose and eyelash with grit. We stood to sing, knelt to pray, and pounded our breasts when the communion bells rang. How our heads ached.
Santa came while we were out.
50 word story 6/16/17
Iggy, so called because of the spiked tuft of feathers shooting up between his eyes, twitched, tenuously stretching his wings wide from his sides. He blinked his bright eyes right, left; crouched above the down that lined the bottom of the nest, squeaked a salute to his mother, then leapt.