Writer’s Choice

Bird Without a Song

Hana leans into the second verse, singing about the loneliness of a songless bird. The music in my life is missing.

Our names were announced over the booming horde hailing the local girl making history. The bell tolled.

I feel safe and warm, and I drift to sleep with the smell of apples, sugar, and butter gently filling my nose.

I am drawn to the train tracks and find the memory haunting. Because that’s how you died, my little brother.

I lay down on the couch ushered by my anguish. The clock ticks, backwards. I’m four again.

I ache to whisper the fullness of my heart, but can’t decode it swift enough to speak. It’s a foreign language.

The late November grey hung in curtains all around them. And of course, greyest of all, on Leonard’s mood.

Sarah Louise Butler’s new novel contains a mystery, intrinsically connected to nature and reader perception.

My father puts his hands on my shoulders. I haven’t seen him in ten years, but he looks good.