I was sitting on my bed, knitting the beginning of a new pair of mittens. My hands couldn’t take the inaction anymore, they needed the loops and patterns.
I was sitting on my bed, knitting, and I heard birds singing. My window was open and it is spring now, I took a long walk with Jenny today, the sun was warm and the forest floor covered in wood anemones. Still, how strange, I thought. It is after midnight. Birds don’t sing in the middle of the night.
It took quite a while before I realized. It was not birds. It was mom, watching TV in the living room.
The world had not turned upside down. Birds had not started singing in the dead of night. I just belong to a family of sporadic insomniacs.
Katja Malmborg 