And at that moment, a lilting melody lifts to the moon as a single sparrow sings.

Still, I look down, and the grass is so green, I cannot understand how it does not wither and die with sorrow. ~Song of the Sparrow

It should begin with friendship, I think. Suddenly I cannot look at him. It should begin with friendship and truly knowing who a person is, knowing his flaws and hopes and strengths and fears, knowing all of it. And admiring and caring for- loving the person because of all of those things... I know that now.

Merry Christmas, I whisper to myself. Merry Christmas, Nate.

The song is languid and speaks of love and loneliness and loss. Why does love seem to go with the sad things?

The birch trees loom ahead like a brotherhood of ghosts.

Somewhere, things must be beautiful and vivid. Somewhere else, life has to be beautiful and vivid and rich. Not like this muted palette -a pale blue bedroom, washed out sunny sky, dull green yellow brown of the fields. Here, I know ever twist of every road, every blade of grass, every face in this town, and I am suffocating.