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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