Maximilien Marie Isidore Robespierre (rabid_lamb) wrote in mourir_libre,
Maximilien Marie Isidore Robespierre

The days are turning darker now. I can hear the doves calling from their autumn nests in the eaves. What do they do, what do doves do when winter comes? They can't very well stop being doves. They settle down with their strange little birdish memories of summer and weather the season out. I wonder if they even know it's cold. They're all nerve endings, doves. Quick and animal. Not like us. Antoine would have said--

But no.
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