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"Rite of Spring" by Virginia Foley

He sang Gershwin as we strolled down Montreal sidewalks, past budding trees confined to boulevard boxes, where dogs peed against them, and trash swirled around them, trees that would have a better chance in forests, but were still plucky in their snug quarters.

He held my hand. We kissed on Rue Saint-Jacques. I melted. In the glow of a streetlamp, his blue eyes flickered.

He left me when the ground was icy, when winds whipped my hair over my eyes, when leaves tumbled and were crushed underfoot.

Come spring, he returned, as seasons do. It seemed we needed the sun.

A word from the author: I write overlooking Lake St Clair in Ontario, Canada. My work has been published in literary and lifestyle journals, including Dorothy Parker's Ashes, Talking Writing, Read650, Southshore Review, Canada's History Magazine, and Dreamers Creative Writing. Find me at:

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