The birds in the trees sing morning and night. They sing not because they are happy. They sing because without their song, the shadows of the dawn would not appear, the sun would not set behind the hill, the moon would not rise. This is the way of it. It is their offering. It is their work. To withhold their song would bring a curse to the twilight.

And so it is that we must each find our song and we must sing it regardless of our feeling, regardless of any assurance that it causes the world to turn around the sun. Without each part of the dream, the dream is not whole and it disappears like wisps of smoke into the infinite void.

One song at a time. This is all that can be hoped for.