We take many things for granted that become precious once we lose them.

From Alfred’s journal

The feeder by the blue house was empty all week, and I sat on the gutter above it twice a day like a fool waiting for a train that had stopped running. For two winters I barely thought about that feeder. It was simply there, the way the fence is there, the way the sun comes up behind the water tower. We take many things for granted that become precious once we lose them, and I had not once counted those seeds as a kindness until the man who filled it stopped coming out. Switch says the woman at the corner puts out peanuts now, which is true and does not help. I keep going back to the gutter anyway, and I am not sure yet whether that is hope or only habit wearing the same coat.