Renewal
One small song
Renewal
Although it had been quiet for weeks, I hadn’t ventured outside. But this morning, I smelled something unexpected. It shook me from my torpor; I smelled greening earth. Spring.
I pulled on my boots and coat, wrapped my scarf around my head and face, and cracked open the door that led to the stairs. I crept down the stairs and out the front door of the building, momentarily blinded by sunlight. I’d forgotten. The warmth of it. I pushed my sleeves up to feel the light and heat on my skin, just for a moment. It felt like electricity. I stood, and took a breath of air that had that greening smell. My head swam, but I smiled, my lips cracking. I turned toward the smell of earth, and I walked toward the park.
There is was. The place I had once sat to drink a cup of coffee, or read a book. The benches were gone. Debris covered the ground. I walked slowly, staying wary, but I only saw the rats that had survived and were thriving. I didn’t focus my eyes on the objects that I passed, but continued to walk toward what had been my favorite spot, next to the small water run-off. I used to call it a stream. It had made beautifully soft music once. I now stood and looked at the dry path where the water had once run. Not a drop? I needed it to be alive. I had to hear it again. I walked toward the drain pipe that was the head of the stream. It was buried in debris. I used nearly all my strength, and moved the debris out away from the grated drain. A small trickle of water. I stared at it as it inched toward me. I knelt down and touched it. I scooped it up and smelled it, then touched it with my tongue. With shaking hands I sat, suddenly weeping as I scooped water and drank. I panted with the effort, and sat slumped by the water, keeping my hands in it. Then I heard something that stopped me. A robin? Somewhere there was a robin singing. I looked around frantically. Maybe I’d slipped off into sleep. Maybe I’d dreamed it. No! There! It was a robin’s song. I stood and stumbled toward a willow tree that was split down the middle, but a small branch had new leaves. I moved haltingly, aching to be closer. I couldn’t walk any more, so I crawled, and then there he was, that robin.
I rolled onto my back, reverently listening. I dug my fingers into the new grass, bringing the smell of earth up to me. I smiled, still weeping. This moment had been worth the risk of exposure. I giggled as I clutched my fingers deeper into the soil. I felt something hard and sat up slightly, expecting to see a pebble or shrapnel in my hand, but what I pulled from the grass was a small locket on a fine chain. A delicate thing, that looked impossibly beautiful in my hand. I sat up, my head spinning. I waited for the spinning to slow, and then wiped my hands on the grass. This object deserved all my attention. I opened it, my hands shaking. Inside was a tiny photo of a woman. Her smile was shy but full of sweetness. Her eyes were full of mischief, and crinkled at the corners. I looked at the other side of the locket and read a tiny script; “You bring me joy”. I held it to my chest. Someone had loved her so dearly, to carry her picture in a locket, near their heart. I read the words again. What a thing to say to someone.
I felt the life fading from me as I fell back onto the ground again. I looked up into the tree, seeing the bird as he sat, bursting with song. “You bring me JOY!” I whispered to the robin. “You bring me joy” I whispered again, lying down to die.
About the Creator
Frances Leah Brown
I am a singer, a story teller on stage and in print, and a lover of family and nature.
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