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.