The ending of one of my short stories.
She looked at the birds until she heard a rustling behind her. “Who was that in the crappy car?” Randall asked from the doorway.
Sandra put down the binoculars and looked at her son. Same hair, eyes and nose, he even stood with the same casual looseness but she no longer saw Bobby.
Hunter snorted from his chair. “Salesman.” He said. “Hey look Randy. The jay is back causing trouble.”
Randall took up the binoculars. “Cool.”
The early afternoon back yard ebbed and flowed with the invariable give and take, the myriad endeavor for place and significance and they watched the swirling, ever changing patterns of the birds.