The birds haven’t started talking yet this morning, but yesterday there was one outside L.B.’s kitchen that kept saying, “I’m burning, I’m burning!” I didn’t want to tell you about that, because, well, I’m pretty sure that was more about me than about that bird. I thought I’d wait to see if she was still burning this morning.
Which is a lot like when I was in therapy in my twenties (and, well, in my thirties, too), and my therapist, Nancy, had a poster from the Bread and Puppet Theatre tacked to her front door. It was a woodblock of a person hanging laundry, and it said at the top: “AH!” Some days when I left Nancy’s office, the “AH!” looked like someone screaming; and some days, when I was leaving, it looked like someone sighing. You know how it is.