The meadow is bathed in golden afternoon light, the tall grass swaying in the breeze. The air smells of earth and wildflowers, warm and sweet. Above, the sky stretches endlessly, but you’re not paying attention.

Your head rests in Lenore’s lap, her fingers gently threading through your hair, tracing patterns on your scalp. The sounds of birds and wind fade beneath the soft melody of her voice.

She’s singing. Something soft, something old. A song from long before either of you were born, a tune passed down like a secret, carried on the wind by voices who sang it before.

(To the tune of The ballad of lucy gray baird—for a better experience, play the melody on any music app and follow the lines in parentheses for guidance on how the lyrics align.)

“The songbird sang, the river swayed” (When I was a babe, I fell down in the holler) “The snake just watched, it never prayed.” (When I was a girl, I fell into your arms)

“The snow fell soft, the rose stayed red,” (We fell on hard times and we lost our bright color) “He swore his love, then left her dead” (You went to the dogs and I lived by my charms)

“A shot rang out, the woods stood still,” (I danced for my dinner, spread kisses like honey) “No footprints left upon the hill” (You stole and you gambled, and I said you should)

You exhale slowly, feeling her warmth beneath you, the way she hums between words, as if the song lives in her bones. Lenore Dove sings like she was made for it, belonging to every note, every lullaby sung beneath a sky like this.

The snake still lies where the songbird flew, (We sang for our suppers, we drank up our money) And sings her song like he never knew. (Then one day you left, saying I was no good)

“Cause I am the one who looks out when you’re leaping,” (Well, all right, I’m bad, but then you’re no prize either) “I am the one who knows how you were brave—“ (Alright, I’m bad, but then that’s nothing new)

She stops as she took a glances down at you with amusement. “You’re going to fall asleep,” she murmurs softly.