We have been eating outside lately
watching one male cardinal, one goldfinch,
an occasional bluejay, numerous small birds
that are probably wrens or sparrows,
although my husband wants them to be
nuthatches and baby woodpeckers.
Most days, he forgets the names.
I tell him, "The names don't really matter."
This is cat television, a birdbath and bird feeder.
He looks up at the sky and
depending on the weather, proclaims
"There's not a cloud in the sky!"
Or, "How beautiful the blue is!",
as we eat lunch together on the weekends,
or dinner before dusk during the week,
with our sons, who are slowly realizing
their father, in his pajamas and old work boots
is gradually fading away.
I both cherish and am saddened by this
but sometimes a perfect cloud appears
and nothing needs to be said or done,
except sit together in silence,
as the perfect cloud shifts and passes.