The first

Today would be the day. I decided this morning, when I opened my eyes and the light was still grey, the air still cool.I could hear the birds singing outside, as they do at first light, regardless whether it was limpid and weak, or whether it was bold and bright. Just like one's mind sometimes. When you decide, you stay the course.

And so this letter, one of many to follow I hope. The way we could link our lives, our thoughts, our memories together. For every reason, for whatever reason. The need to gather threads grows stronger with age, does it not. And we bundle them together sometime and hope for our own illumination even more than posterity.

Today, the bird that came to me yesterday, given by a neighbour who rescued it from the claws of a cat, fell over and died. A fledging who only knew short flights, and who opened its beak wide to be fed by its tired mother. Maybe it died from hunger, from fear, from cold from a relentless storm late last night. Who knows. It will never know of course, that its image is now locked in my memory. Its face peering at me when I tried to whistle its mother's song. The final image, for me and for him.

Who knows indeed what perspectives we possess? We all stand in our own spheres, and our paths cross and we are held by an invisible bond, of blood and of memory.