The place is abandoned, they’ve all gone south. I feel like doing that myself some days but stop short, remembering the swollen freeways instead of peaceful mornings listening to the crazy birds, like me, who stay the winter through, the ones who are too young or old and slow to make it that far. We like each other I suspect because there is never a shortage of them at my winter feeder to squabble a hello in the frosty mornings air. I hope they stick around and white wash my grave stone or scatter my bleached out bones when it’s the time for me to head south for the last flight to eternity!

About yesisedit

Old guy, young mind.
This entry was posted in 1, Art, childrens poems, Ecology, Food shortages a boom!, Fuel for thought, Ideas, My view, nature, Photography, Say it ain't so, society, Stories and art, story, Thoughts, world. Bookmark the permalink.

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