The birds came back this morning, same ones as before cardinals, I think, the way you'd know. They land on the feeder by the kitchen window, and I'm standing where your mother stood, peeling potatoes into a silver bowl. The radio's still playing that song we used to I haven't changed the station. Couldn't bring myself. I drove past the house on the lake, the one with the dock where we couldn't finish that thought. The rain was coming down like it knew something I didn't, like it was trying to wash the memory clean. But the birds, they remember. They keep coming back. And I'm searching the empty roads, the gravel crunching under tires, looking for the moment when you were still here. The birds still know your name, even though you're gone. They land on the feeder, and I'm not alone but I am. The birds still know, and I'm still searching, still searching the rain. I found the recipe she wrote down, the one for Sunday dinner her handwriting fading on the card. I haven't cooked it. Can't seem to start. What if the birds stop coming? What if I forget the way your voice sounded when you'd call them in from the yard? But they keep coming back. They always come back. And maybe that's enough. Maybe that's the answer I've been searching for in all those empty spaces. The birds still know your name, even though you're gone. They land on the feeder, and I'm not alone but I am. The birds still know, and I'm still searching, still searching the rain. The birds came back this morning. Same ones as before. I'm standing in the kitchen. Your mother's bowl is empty now. ----- Lyrics by inquiee
