Migration

She wakes up early to say goodbye; he’s already gone. She runs to the door, catches a glimpse of his car as he drives away. Her mind takes a picture, processes it, then hangs it in her heart, just a blurry image of him driving out of the frame.

She stands by the door a minute watching a flock of birds that just closed up their summer home take off for somewhere warmer. Maybe they’ll come back. Maybe they won’t. She stares until they disappear into the sun.

She really didn’t want to say goodbye, anyway.