Friday, April 24, 2015
The birds were singing again for the first time in months. They seemed to have disappeared completely for a while, it felt like longer than it actually was not knowing if they’d ever return, and the sight of them once again sailing through the air reminded us of the mad miraculousness of flight.How easy it had been to numb ourselves to magic when it was all around us, and for a few breathtaking moments we were filled with the child’s wonder of a unicorn. We sang all the bird songs we knew, shook off old bird puns, recited bird poems. Nicky had the Rime of the Ancient Mariner known to memory and gave it to us with extravagant gusto. My daughter asked me where the birds had gone to for so long, and would they stay this time? I told her that the birds had gone to heaven, but had missed us so much that they came back/ I don’t know why I said that. But in my memory of the day, there might have been a bird singing a short distance from my ear. A blackbird, I think, though it could easily have been a robin. “Miss-you,”, it sang, chipper and mournful as a Sunday morning. “Miss-you”.