Listening To Birdsong
I went to see Theresa today. The birds were just beginning to sing and the stone was chilly beneath my thighs despite the sunlight streaming through the leaves above.
She sat next to me on the train to London, a brilliant songbird beside a big and brooding raven. I was about to begin my study of medicine in earnest and had yet to acquire a physician's assurance. When she called later that evening, asking if I would join her for a bite, I was so surprised I almost hung up. It turned out she was to study music at the same university, and we married three years later. That was the same year the cancer metastasized in her brain. Now, listening to birdsong, her memory soars clear and bright.