Sparrow on a rail. Photo by Kate Hess

There is a sound.

It is beneath the hum of tires cruising across pavement on the distant highway. Beneath the patter of raindrops on asphalt, trees, grass, sidewalk. It is softer than the crush of sneaker soles articulating across the asphalt on this empty street, softer even than the breathing, slightly labored, that only my ears hear this night. Beneath the breath is a beating rhythm. It seems strange to say my…