Flatlined.

Everything's darkened and shaded a sort of blue by the curtains; an artificial twilight to the dull grey day outside.

Car, car, truck, car. Indicated by the degree of sound. They plow through the falling snow, dirtying its pristine whiteness.

It's sort of nice. But I don't hear the birds I heard in summer. They've fled south, no doubt, leaving me in a bird-less state. They used to greet me by flying off of every bush and tree I walked by, not settling fully until minutes afterward.

I miss their twittering.

It's empty without them.