The sound has changed outside our bedroom.
But the birds are gone, their little ones grown bigger feathers, learned flight and fled away from here.
That beautiful rustling of all the trees is changing as the greens bleed away leaving yellow and orange. The rustling is louder now, somehow more like bones scraping on bones.
I saw the wind bird on top of the old barn swing to point now the North without you. Not in a guessing way, but determined.
Cold is here, and I am missing.
Missing your hand upon my thigh. Missing your leg close to mine. Missing I know, that when sun rises over the wind bird, I will greet the sun myself.
Missing the knowledge I am alone.
You were never the soldier, never the protector, never the strong one, but there you were beside me. A kind word. A supporting smile. A helping hand.
In my heart, I wish I could fly away and flee here.
I am missing.