Missed connection

For a long time after, I looked for your car in my driveway when arriving home at night. I'd check the area for sign. Tire tracks, partial footprints, a letter in the mailbox, a note between the screen and front doors. I was always disappointed, but my eyes still had to check. This morning I found these tracks in the new snow on my doorstep. They're tiny, delicate, belonging perhaps to a chicadee. She seemed to have come right to my door. I felt a pang of guilt for having never replaced the broken doorbell.