The Nest at Thanksgiving
Sitting empty on a late Fall day,
A bird’s nest presents itself as a waking image.
Real,
as unimagined owners now gone,
backlit by a warming sun rising to greet me,
from my nest on the windows other side.
A family raised and dispersed to warmer climes
leaves memories of their growing,
falling from trees, feeding times and fondness.
Meanwhile,
inside,
a warmth glows persistently,
fueled by thoughts and the lumber surrounding my nest.
Felt by the fire of family love.
