White Doves by John-Michael Papirchuk

White Doves by John-Michael Papirchuk

Few events stand out in my life, as this story I’m about to reveal.   Undoubtedly it was another of those seminal moments when a child takes a large step forward in maturity.  I had been given two white doves and through my fecklessness had lost them.  At first I believed it to be the biggest tragedy in my life.  Not long afterwards, a subsequent incident forever changed my mind on that subject – it was a lesson learned that when things look at their worse there are two possible scenarios in the offing – either things will look up or they’ll get worse, at times much worse.

4 responses to “White Doves by John-Michael Papirchuk

  1. I enjoyed the story very much,but who is the audience.You are well educated but your audience is nowhere close to your level so maybe in English use less fancy words and in French write the English equivalent in brackets so as to educate the masses instead of chasing them away.

    • Thank you for your positive response to my story, as for your comments re my writing style, let me respond briefly: I write neither for the masses nor for an elite readership, I write. Reading for the sole purpose of pleasure is very democratic – after a few lines, a couple of paragraphs or a page, one is perfectly free to cease and desist; no foul no harm. As for the French I intersperse here and there it is merely to add a little colour and perhaps afford the reader the pleasure of recognizing some words laboriously learned a long time ago in a Canadian high-school. Merçi all the same.

  2. Can I say you’re for the birds? Nice story.

    • Am I? It depends if you mean for the ‘birds’ as a Brit lad might express, “Lovely bird that one!” and in that case, absolutely. If you mean am I in favor of birds as a species, yes and no, it depends on which ones are waking me up at 4:30 a.m., crows and seagulls, or chickadees. Guess which I prefer. As for the story itself it has been a long time since I thought of it but posting it brought back memories and interestingly it also woke up a long forgotten, sad episode to my boyhood pal, Jean H. He sent me a note to say he’d walked over to the cemetery and bowed his head a moment in greeting. So young to die for a couple of pigeon eggs. Perhaps, it has the salutary effect of reminding me of the vagaries of our mortality – when, where and especially how! Waste not a minute mon ami; go for the out-of-reach brass ring standing on your pony. Incidentally, I have and I’ve fallen off more than once, bruised and scarred I’ve not yet given up.

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