I drove home from the grocery to a song I'd never heard before.

The singer calling to Ms Dragonfly, Ms Butterfly--then asking 'What kind of creature am I?

As I unloaded the bags, 'What kind of creature am I' poured from my throat. My voice soared from low to high, and I improvised—I can fly!-echoing in the garage, as though my voice were unchained. Busted out of its cage.

Truly, I’ve believed these last years all but the low notes were lost to me forever.