it is easy to forget the sound of small birds singing—the bravest ones soothing the dark skies with their seed-songs, all the noise in the world competing with their morning prophecies. all the places we walked, there were robins on mossy walls, inside the tangled ribs of hedgerows, eyes bright from within the hidden worlds of crumbly bracken—all the feathered messengers with bells in their pulsing throats and we were there to see them—to witness. and the morning after the storm, the coal tit losing its way, suddenly separated from the wildness, how you closed the bedroom door behind you, the room smaller, the escape route more certain. how the same hands that stroked the gnarled, white barn cat the day before, captured the small body in flight, cradling every part of the feathered fear. the joy etched on your face as you watched it fly away, your body listening for the signs you were beginning to forget, all the promises you were giving up on.

© Liezel Graham 2021.

{image by Verstappen Photography on Unsplash}

may your day be filled with small prophecies falling like bells from birds soothing the dark skies and may you remember all the promises that you were starting to forget.

liezel