Ideabird 8/21/13

The radio played over her bed at night as the station only came in under the dark quiet of the stars. The old host spoke in a language she didn't understand. The songs were old-fashioned, melancholy, sentimental. She imagines anyone else listening would pretend they were in a foreign land, a stranger awash in exotic travel. She would curl up in bed and imagine these were songs her mother used to sing when she was a little girl, songs just past the edge of memory.

© Tony Jonick 2013