The Window

Dear Daddy,

The wind chimes you made out of pipes are singing loudly today - celebrating the birth of three - yes, three black calves in the field across the road. I imagine they are cold today, with one last blast of cold air before spring settles in. The porch swing is swaying back and forth, back and forth, creaking, as if it is waiting for us to sit and talk about our day. I miss that. You were right about the springs. Do you remember how hot it was the day we went to the junkyard to get them? They sure do make the swing nice and bouncy.

The sky is so gray today – like in one of those black and white photographs of us when I was little. The last of the daffodils are hanging on for dear life. Sadly, I see the birdhouse is still empty. Do you remember the birdhouse you nailed to the tree out front? You know, the one shaped like a cat? A bird has yet to call it home - maybe it's the cat thing. I can see it out my window - right at the edge of the woods. I’m thinking I should go adorn all those trees with yellow ribbons, in light of the war going on. I do have my flag out, although the wind has it partially wrapped around the pole right now. Far below the woods, cars are whizzing by, headlights on in the drab dusk, their patriotic flags whipping here and there. If you were here, you’d tell me your war stories, and I’d pretend it was the first time. I wish we could do that again.

I miss you.

Love,
Becky