When the World Answers Back

A Scene I Love—Where Grief, Memory, and the Natural World Meet

Here’s part of a scene that I love from near the end of Incognito: A Sean McPherson Novel, Book Eight (not yet released):

Niall turns to the group. “Some of you know this, others don’t. My brother, Paddy, was a priest. Father Patrick MacCullough. I once asked him what happens when we die. He said:

"Honestly, I don’t know what happens after we take our final breaths in these fragile earthly bodies. But I like to imagine we return to the natural cycle of the universe—to our loved ones as breath in their lungs, sunlight on their skin, life teeming around them. I imagine those we’ve lost become part of every living thing. And when we stop to notice the beauty of life around us, it’s them saying: 'All is well.'"

Niall raises his glass. “To Maeve and Connor.”

And then, as if summoned by the memory of love itself, they appear. Two birds, small and sharp‑winged, sweep across the darkening sky. They dip once, then again, spiraling above the bluff.

Emma gasps. “Are those—?”

“Ancient Murrelets,” Niall says, awe threading through his voice. “They don’t usually come here. They’re native to the cold waters around the Aleutian Islands, British Columbia, and parts of Asia.”

“It’s been ages since I’ve seen one,” Libby says.

The pair circles once more, then vanishes into the clouds.

No one speaks.

In that moment, wrapped in salt air and wind‑brushed heather, everyone feels it: the murmur of something eternal. A love vast enough to breach death. A reminder that some stories don’t end—they simply change shape.