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on birdsong and forgetting.

And again, it’s been too long. I’ve been away. I’ve been away as so many long months disappeared, frittered into minutes and worry. I’ve been away in a world where time is measured in increments rather than cycling light, in intervals rather than the moon’s rhythmic aperture, in segments rather than the slow throb of the seasons.

And now it’s the end of June, and for all my regrets, the birds outside are exploding with enjoyment and delight. I still have not learned, and I’m hoping that writing will help.