It's dazzling outside. My bird is playing in the cage, and the yellow bird, the gray bird and the goldfinch are singing. Her series of "afterlife" seems to me to be a ladder, leaving her and extending deeply down to a dark place and a lonely place.
Night has come, a powerful, fresh and caring thing like a loving mother, like a hug, and silence is like a warm and furry hand stroking gently, brushing away everything that should be forgotten in memory-brushing away all the fine dust that eroded people during the day.