the light sings to me in the morning coos, really, a feather’s brush against my ears. drrrrrrrrrrrrrrum, drrrrrrrrrum, drrrrrum.

But then it rains and I wonder about the birds what do they think, when the rain falls without end, and hunger drives them forth from sanctuary? What do they think, buffeted by wind and water, berated by flying bodies? change or die, says the rain. drrrrrrrrrrrum, drrrrrrrrrrum, drrrrrum.

soothed though I am by the contortions of these soft wet bodies on these cold hard surfaces they drown out the birds. drrrrrrrum, drrrrrrrrrrum, drrrrrrrrum