Every morning like clockwork, my backyard has a schedule.

8 AM — the crows arrive. No announcement needed. They just appear like they own the place, because honestly, they think they do.

3 PM — the wild parakeets. Loud, chaotic, absolutely feral. You don't hear them coming until they're already screaming in your ear.

I didn't realize I had built my whole day around these birds until the morning it poured rain and none of them showed up.

Just silence.

And a yard that felt strangely, unexpectedly empty.

I looked around. Nothing. Not a feather. Not a sound except the rain.

So where do birds go when it rains?

I still don't know.

But sitting there in that quiet I noticed something else entirely.

How much I missed them.

Not dramatically. Just the way you notice a chair is empty that's usually filled. A small absence that suddenly reveals how much you were counting on something you never once thought to be grateful for.

I wonder how many things in my life are like that.

So reliably there I've stopped seeing them.

Right up until the rain comes and takes them away.

𓂀Being IS the MAGIC – Wandering Waykeeper – Beckett

If something in this stayed with you, you're welcome to leave it here.

(Original Photography of said Parakeets below.)