In youth, it was easy to take a step back, and reflect.  

Reflect on everything moving around me, the changes, the things remaining the same.  

I would lay down; on the grass, on my bed, on the living room floor- and listen to the humming of mourning doves, the quick irregular tweeting of sparrows, the sharp screeching calls of robins.  

I would listen, and I would reflect on their sounds. In all the chaos and rapid alterations of adolescence, I could still put together their song, still hear them in the trees, greeting each other and communicating in a melody of their own making.  

The birds never stopped singing.  

So why, in the static limbo of near-adulthood, in the day-to-day, in the longer mornings and shorter nights, when I needed their song the most, did I stop hearing them? 

I need to take a step back; I need to reflect. 

I want to hear the birds again.