sometimes empty
In a different city.
I look out at the window and listen to the city breathing.
I hear the woosh of the train in intervals that have become a part of the day’s song.
I hear songbirds and the last, dying breaths of the cicadas.
At night, crickets, and loud talking.
I see the occasional crow on the tree honey locust tree outside that is rapidly bring gold in the dying of the light.
The crows have a higher pitch here. As do the seagulls. It’s unnerving after decades of hearing the same tonality in the calls of urban wildness.
This space is liminal.
Despite being the third largest city in the USA, it seems sometimes empty.
Maybe it’s the lack of birds.
(Especially crows.)
Or maybe it’s the season.
Or maybe it’s me.
I’m reminded that emptiness is filled with possibility.
Like the trees whose branches await the avian return.
A Blessing
May the possibility waiting for you find you, dear reader.
