The birds outside the window speak brightly.
Of love? Of skies? Of fresh winds?
This street has hardly changed these odd 20 years I’ve known it.
The birds are glad of that, surly.
It’s a nice thing to have somewhere to come home to.
It’s not the tidy corners that make it, or how many cookies are stashed away, or even the colour of the curtains hanging with grace over soft windows.
It’s the calm that comes with sitting on the front stoop, drinking a coffee, and trying to understand what those birds are saying.
Written by Sarah C Louise
Sarah C Louise 