what the bird knows

I'm watching this bird, outside this window. He's found shelter from the out-of-season weather in a naked shrub. The snow seems to bother him more than the wind. Seemingly content in his inadequate shelter, his chest is puffed out to keep himself warm. He makes no noise, no joyous chirping, instead he is meditating on the weather. Darting his head around, watching the snow and the people fly by him.

And why so lonely, so many people flutter around him now.

But he's alone, and I can tell that this distresses him slightly. He doesn't leave his post, as if he's waiting there for someone. His eyes, searching past the snow and the city, can't quite find peace.