Miss Shmisa: How was your week?
Small Violin Student: We had a field trip! And planted trees!
Miss Shmisa: Oh! That sounds lovely! Where did you go?
S.V.S.: I dunno. Somewhere where there was lotsa ticks and poison stuff.
…I have been thinking lately that someday, when I am an old lady, I want to Know All About Birds. So I can watch them at the birdfeeder and tell my grandchildren wise things about birdcalls and sit in solitude in the woods with a notebook and a pen and plenty of music and company around me.
“Every March since the Pleistocene, the geese have honked unity from Currituck to Labrador, Matamuskeet to Ungava, Horseshoe Lake to Hudson’s Bay, Avery Island to Baffin Land, Panhandle to Mackenzie, Sacramento to Yukon. By this international commerce of geese, the waste corn of Illinois is carried through the clouds to the Arctic tundras, there to combine with the waste sunlight of a nightless June to grow goslings for all the lands between. And in this annual barter of food for light, and winter warmth for summer solitude, the whole continent receives as net profit a wild poem dropped from the murky skies upon the muds of March.”
-Aldo Leopold, Sand County Almanac
“A wild poem dropped from the murky skies”…mmmm. The image in my head is of a goose feather with tiny letters scribbled upon it, floating down from a melancholy honking V in the sky, into some unsuspecting poet’s lap. !