Charlie Greenberg

Birdhouse

The wet gravel crackled like embers under the weight of the slowing car. The driver killed the engine, swapping its thunderous noise for the pitter patter of the rain. Like a mason jar, the car door popped open. A bright yellow rain boot dug into the mud followed by a second boot. The driver stood, examining the cobblestone driveway leading into the pavilion. Brown moving boxes littered the walkway and stairs leading to the front door, it had been left open.