laugardagur, júlí 09, 2005
fuglesang
Low cloud on the dark green hillside. Azure jays laughing gakgakgakgakgak somewhere out in the nearest trees. This morning they sound like magpies to me, and I could be at the edge of Nordmarka, but then a jay alights on a brick cornice, and his black-crested blueness brings me back to this coast, and I smell eucalyptus behind the pines.
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Hmmm... bluejays, which means it's the US; eucalyptus and pines, which means it's sub-tropical. California?
Or maybe I was just reading too much Seamus Heaney ("Skunk") and Adrienne Rich ("Splittings") last night ...
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