Thanksgiving Day poetry

Laundry got done
Under the clouded sun
The parking lot
Half empty
Strangely lightless,
Lifeless without motion
Or motivation.
My upstairs Asian boys three
No longer walking on my head
Quiet in vacancy,  like a passing thought
You once knew
Resident fledglings have scattered to distant nests.
The pigskin flew
Helmets got hammered
Half winners
Half losers
No pleasing everyone
Best not to hope too hard
On things that matter
Not a tinker's damn.

Rain beats to an absence of rhythm
Falling where it will,
Such power in having no master
Being unnoticed, uncontrolled,
Raindrops hit the ground
Making sound
As they die? No
As they transform
Silent as they fall in the grey mist
Do they hit each other?
Coalesce, become one or three or five
Is dropping sweet release or suicide?
Destiny.
The sound I hear seems so peaceful
Unlike the death scream of those afraid.
I wonder how long their journey
From Heaven to Earth
And back again.
Grateful for the moves made that have allowed me to become a freebird.
The lack of distress like wearing jammies and eating cookies all day.