Solace

I realized yesterday that I haven't heard the birds sing since I was about 6. My last conscious memory of listening to the birds is a warm afternoon at Harefield Infant School. A warm breeze floated over my blue and white checked dress (that my Mum made for me.) The dirt was dry. Our class was playing right before story time, which we were going to have outside today. Jumping from small stone to small stone in the dry dirt, I was listening to the sounds of summer and the courting calls of avian critters that I pretended were speaking to me. "This way...." one would call. "Over here..." another would reply. I wanted to play with them all. I wanted to sprout wings and fly. I'd be a blue bird, the same colour as the baby shade in the blazing afternoon sky, with a white cloud of feathers on my chest.

My garden affords me this gift. The gift of song. The gift of human silence. The gift of memories, long since forgotten. wow.