In the midst of April, on a breezy afternoon, a cardinal is flying away from a bird feeder after hearing my feet crumple the dry grass. Landing on a tree, shaking the branches and leaves. She stands in a stream of sunlight far enough to observe her beauty, but completely out of reach. She whistles— looks at me, then flies away to areas unknown. My backyard— the nature it holds. A ground brought up on laughter flourishing with shared experiences between two of the same. Used weekly— healthy, bright, our safe haven with light shining down on us as we create memories. It's no longer thriving. Creating and learning is now desolate memories. Slowly, our fabricated kinship faded. Our safe haven, once happy and glowing now gloomy and empty. Like the cardinal we used to watch, sharing stories, reinforcing our love, flew away, just as you did. Now, I sit in my gazebo, looking vacantly, uncomfortable. All that remains is our beautiful shared memories. Memories I reminisce in as I sit alone in the quiet.