Wire Haiku

distant neons
passing through the eye
of an empty birdhouse

Eventually, they leave the nest.

Ah yes, the moment when you wake up and hear a distinct lack of birds screeching and hollering. The moment when the birds are fewer and quieter and far less likely to eat the treats you put out for them.

I don’t know where they go, but I hope they like it there. I’m sitting here wearing full fleece pyjamas and still feeling cold; I wish I could fly away too.