About What Counts
He sits at the kitchen window counting
birds at the feeder. He used to know the name
of each one, their breeding habits, their migration
patterns. A large shadow passes overhead, scattering
the little birds like the memories that elude him. People
and places he no longer recalls, strangers in photographs.
Only the feelings remain.
Surely they must count for something.
rhymeswithbug 
Very touching. My sister had Alzheimer’s for 12 years before she died. So hard…
LikeLiked by 1 person