text: Grandma used to tell me there was a song in everything. She would say the wind was the melody, the trees the percussion, and the critters that filled the land were the vocals. She used to hum along with the sounds of the microwave and washer. She’d harmonize with the racket of traffic. She’d even dance to the scrubbing of the dishes. She was an amazing woman who heard the beauty in everything. I loved her dearly, but sometimes wonder if the loss of her sight also led to the loss of her mind as well. Grandpa once said she was always like this. She was a whimsical young lady, which turned her into a magical old crone, spending every moment see could following the sounds. I might not hear the music she could, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t catch myself whistling along with the birds sometimes on my walks home. Her favorite song of all, was the sounds of a summer night. I would often find her in the back garden late in the evening. Surrounded by fireflies and flowers, resembling a fairy queen on her throne. There she would let the sounds carry her away to some place the rest of us could never seem to find. And in those moments, she would open her mouth and let loose the most beautiful sounds a human could make. Her tone was both earthy and light, and with the addition of the toads, crickets and owls, the song would almost become ethereal. And for a small moment, anyone there to bare witness would be swept away with her. This is where I found myself often, whenever I felt alone, or stressed or sad, grandma’s song was there to ground me. So, on the night she passed, I found myself there again. I settled myself in her normal spot, closed my eyes and listened. But all I found was silence, as if the world was mourning her loss with me. All that was there to accompany me was the tears on my face and the stars in the sky. Each one seemed to shine a little less bright this evening. In the years to follow I would find myself there often, and all though the melodies of the night air returned, I could never find that song again. The world continued as if nothing had changed. That house stayed with the family, as was tradition, and soon became home to a family of my own. And one summer night, while I thought everyone was asleep, I heard that song again. Every so faintly, it floated into the house through an open window. My feet brought me out to the garden, my whole mind feeling entranced. And in that garden, my little one sat. Voice as sweet as honey, the universe sang back to her. My grandma used to tell me there was a song in everything, and for the first time, in what seemed a lifetime, I heard my grandma again.