It's a seasonal thing.
Sitting on the end of my front porch yesterday, a hermit thrush sauntered up to greet me. It was in no real hurry, trotting along to give me a good look. Bobbing its tail. I was no threat and it knew that.
"Solitary the thrush, The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements, Sings by himself a song," wrote Whitman. Yes, I the thrush.
It brought to mind a day in September 2017 along the same driveway that another thrush centered story unfolded. One that could have had a tragic ending, yet it did not.
Click: aid and comfort.
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It brought to mind a day in September 2017 along the same driveway that another thrush centered story unfolded. One that could have had a tragic ending, yet it did not.
Click: aid and comfort.
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