a bird house in a field at year's end

No Longer Home

Summer fades. Even the glow of the goldenrod has passed away. Their sojourn over, the migrant souls have gone to greet the morning in another land. Unneeded, their wooden box hangs empty now–no longer home.

~ ~ ~

The black and white version also has merit–although it’s better as a closeup:

a bird house at year's end