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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.

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