Waiting for March

There's a birdhouse outside my kitchen window
I haven't built it myself and
if there had been no bird house
I likely wouldn't have built one there either.

When I moved to my new home last year in January
I did't even notice it at first.
It must have been covered in snow
or my mind was covered in fog.

One day in early March
I was just about to administer myself a dose of caffeine
and light the first cigarette of the day
a little bird came by
with a twig in his beak
and tilted neck
sat down on the birds house roof
looked around in a bird like manner
and after a while
he disappeared inside

I don't know how long he'd been already living there
but for the last breath of spring and throughout the whole summer
I saw him almost every day
buzzing around in search for grass and stems
seeds and grains.

I named him Pete.

In late September he was gone.

Although we never exchanged a word
he was surely the friendliest neighbor I've ever had.
And a good friend.
One of the better ones.
I hope he's doing fine wherever he's now.