The birds have returned to the spot below the window.
I never find the nest or evidence of feathers so well camouflaged.
Yet every spring they return
And I hear the coo, coo, flutter, tap, tap
As they open the summer house.
Rearranging and tidying up, moving furniture out of storage
Hauling mattresses to rightful positions on bedframes,
Sheets aired on the line
And pillows clapped to air out winter dust.
Cobwebs wiped clean and
Some paint to refresh the corners,
This year may be different as the children have grown
And may be in and out,
May not even be there together, at the same time.
But the nest must be readied.
Old sticks must be replaced with new bits of fluff
And perhaps a snag of an old baby blanket.