The Ostrich
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I walked the High Street and looked at the shops. Shelves stacked with food, rows and rows of soft drinks, even the sugar in different types. For these things we had left our home, for these things I was envied. I walked down rows and rows of detergents, of toilet rolls, of frozen meats, of insect repellents. People hurried past, time the only thing not in abundance here. I got in the way of others, fiddled with my change at the check-out counter, blocked their way as I tried to read the headlines of newspapers I did not wish to buy. My reflection caught me unaware in the pharmacy's window. Younger than I imagined myself to be, wide startled eyes watery from the cold. And then a realization, warm like a mother's embrace, soft like the afternoon breeze in Ibn Zaydun's poem. I remembered why the Ostrich's bride had seemed familiar. She was like a younger version of myself.

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