Bronone

As I step onto the porch the wind hits my face and the dog pricks up his ears. Deep brown eyes peer out at me from under the black veil of fur hanging over his muzzle. There is the sound of birds chirping and the wind chime rattling. I walk down the steps with the dog at my side and survey the yard. It looks welcoming. Trees are dotted around the yard; all their branches are drooping like they're trying to touch the ground. Their leaves are green and as I walk to the plum tree next to the veggie garden, I hear the soft 'thud' as a piece of ripe fruit falls. I glance over at the gum tree, bent and gnarled in old age. The birdhouse that was we