the flutes are playing and the wind chimes are chiming. they sound melodious and my spine gets tingles. it is seventy degrees outside. the birds are chirping, singing songs i don’t fully understand, but i can get the gist of it. the lyrics of the lark must be different than the crow. soft, slow, and sensual. the sad heron cackles and caws, after all, she did lose all of her chicks. the terrified and melancholy calls of a mother who couldn’t protect her young. but how would i know about this? maybe the heron just sings to let the hours pass by. maybe the wind chimes chime because it’s in their nature to do so. just like i yawn and sigh because life hurts and breathing is the only thing that truly keeps me alive. oh, trying is so hard.