It is sunny and cold.   Birds sing in the tree outside my window. Their tune is mournful, as though a great love has flown away. This dirge beckons to memories deep within my mind – memories better left in the past, buried without headstone or any marking announcing their existence.   They, like Loki, use trickery. My sorrows murmur, “Just for a moment, then I promise I’ll cease.”  Memories of pain are better…