moisture on the windows
sun entering
soft this time of year
outside a bird calls out
not once
or twice
i do not know when it began
i do not know when it will end

in the early morning
i rise to let the cat outside
it had been calling out
and in my sleep
i heard it
the floor boards
are cold
and creak
as i walk on them
the sky is
pale
the air frigid
the cat and i both pause
for a moment
in the doorway
in our own way
each of us take

in the stillness