i’m sitting here, listening to the rain pour down, here in the south.
i left the back door open, even though it’s january 30th.
because it’s 68 degrees out and i can hear birds singing.
through the sound of the rain.
i wonder how it is that they sing while the rain pours down? don’t they feel it, the cold and wet, burning into their little hollow bodies? still, i hear them. and it’s the same song they sing on warm spring mornings. they sing as if it’s not raining.
maybe they don’t notice the rain.
maybe they don’t know it will be below freezing again tomorrow. that we’re expecting snow on the heels of 68 degrees.
or maybe they notice it, but pay it no mind. there’s too much to sing about, too much to do, too much living to be had in spite of this rain.
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