(Copyright 2011 Michael Clothier)

I turned the corner of the busy New York street and saw them there, half a block down.  Keith knelt, presenting Dauphin with a single, perfect red rose.

Satisfaction welled within me.  Their first date five months ago had gone well.  I usually leave well enough alone after that, let nature take its course, but that cold bitch Winter had been especially strong this year, tried to interfere with her relentless wind and snow.  In retaliation (I so despise Winter) I gave them a bit of a friendly nudge into a New Year’s Eve kiss for the ages, when both thought themselves angry with the other.

Ah, but now Spring was sending forth her first buds, and Winter would be happily vanquished in lieu of a beautiful spring and stunning summer.  And Keith and Dauphin?  Married by fall, unless I missed my guess.

I passed them and whistled a happy tune.  Another couple paired, another feather for my arrow.  An arrow I’d soon nock as a different couple spied each other for the first time and felt the pull, the hope, the yearning, of something more.

Damn, I love being Cupid, but never more than on St. Valentine’s Day!

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