I awoke today to a strange, happy sound outside my window. I laid still with my eyes closed for several minutes, trying to place the sound from my memory. It was sweet and familiar, but what could it possibly be?
And then I remembered. I was hearing the first notes of birdsong. How sweet it was to hear that joyful sound for the first time in months. I went outside in my pajamas, hair undone, puppies dancing around my feet. There is still snow on the ground, but I went barefooted, anyway. I watched and listened, waiting.
Soon the air was full of cheeping, whistling, and darting shadows, swooping and looping through around my yard. I laughed and spread my arms out wide, breathing in the damp earth and feeling the crisp, wintry air on my cheeks. It was so good to be alive.
Then I started to cough, and my dogs started to bark. The magic of the moment broke, and the birds fled to the grapevines.
Forgetting the sound tells me how long and dark this winter has been.