I used to talk to the birds

When I was sick I used to talk to the birds. On walks on my own, when I could go on walks. "I'm still here", I'd shout, "I'm still here". Of course I meant this in an affectionate way :). I had this overpowering feeling that they knew I was sick, crazy as that sounds. I often felt they were talking to me, supporting me, and boy did I need it at times. Walking among the hedgerows, hearing their sounds, is something I remember very fondly, and deeply appreciate.

There's an old Irish story by Paraic O'Conaire called Eoghnin na nhein (Owen of the birds), which had a deep impact on me when I was 16 (and is the only one I remember as a result). In it, a sickly child waits day after day in Spring for the swallows to return and, after much longer than normal, they return, he talks to them....and then he dies. I find this funny now only because it is typical of many Irish stories of the time......not many laughs. I always think they reflect Ireland of the time so well (early 20th century).....

Anyway, I talked to these swallows and told them that they'd be seeing me next year when they came back. And the year after that.  And they did. Last year and this year I've been running in the same area and give them a wave. "Still here" I shout.