|Birds in Flight (M.A. Reilly, 2014)|
In times of great sorrow, the human body produces song--not a keening wail like you might suspect, but oddly a murmur, a rough melody that isn't sustained for long. Mindless as it is necessary.
I think of this, know it to be true.
My son's head is lowered to his father's shoulder and I lean in holding Rob's hand when I first hear the humming begin. Earlier, I laid across Rob's chest and hummed as well.
When words fail, song rises.