Two Sparrows on the Windowsill

The name of your hometown came up on the morning news. Familiar signs and streets passed across the screen. I stopped mid-sip of my coffee and heard that name twice over. I thought of the alleys you used to walk there, but those alleys were already the way they looked after you left. On the television I turned on after the news, the same name came up twice again. In the meantime, out on our apartment balcony, one more sparrow had come to sit side by side on the windowsill. Was the morning you saw there the same as mine, I wonder. The same light, the same dust, the same air. That thought held me for a moment, and when the news ended it let me go quietly. Your alley was there on the screen I turned on after the news, and now two sparrows sit side by side on the balcony. For as long as they sit on that sill, at least, I find myself wishing your day is clear. The weather in your hometown must be lovely and clear today. Two sparrows remained on the windowsill, and the screen was already passing through the morning of some other town.