Two blue birds flying across the calendar page last July. And those birds still flying there now, last July, when the sky was blue not black. When we hiked in the hills and laughed until we cried and went out for Thai food hand in hand. Last July when you could speak and eat and smile and we’d plan camping trips and what colors to paint the walls. Last July when we were the birds. Soaring. No one bothered to turn to August, or any other month after that. Or buy a new calendar at years end. It’s hard to imagine anyone ever will.
When We Were the Birds 