laugardagur, október 15, 2005


I was moved and uplifted by Le peuple migrateur when I watched it on the largest screen of Háskólabíó. Occassionally I visit the website for the pleasure of tracing the flight patterns of particular species on the flash-animated migration map. Even though my beloved kría, the arctic tern, is mis-dubbed 'arctic gull,' this little error does not detract too much from the pleasure of reexperiencing some of the lofty, giddy awe the film inspires. I share with Perrin, the director, great admiration for the feathered tribes and their feats of travel and endurance.

Today I learn from the radio that avian influenza has reached Romania from points further east. Commentators speak of a coming pandemic, using phrases like "not if but when." The spread of the disease is being blamed, not unreasonably, on the passage of migratory birds. They come, they mingle with local domesticated flocks, and fly on.

Outside my windows I regularly see crows, jays, hawks, and hummingbirds. I enjoy the view. When my mind turns from them to cinema, I think of Perrin's souring images. I dislike the idea of seeing the flap and flutter of wings and thinking, instead, of Hitchcock.

Engin ummæli:

Hvaðan þið eruð