Birdwatching

The husband in the room upstairs identifies birds through his office window. He cannot yet tell the difference between the cardinal and flycatcher.

‘It’s important to remember we all fail in our own ways,’ his wife says.

‘Yes, honey,’ her husband says.

They gave up after their third attempt at children.

Lying in bed they hold each other. Her eyes closed against his chest; his eyes trained on the window. The snow falls in loose patches which he mistakes for the chest of a waxwing.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ she says.

‘Me too, me too,’ he says.