Lynn Hoggard’s Comments
It sounds odd to say, but I fell in love with a bird that began frequenting the pond across the street from our house. In the language of The Little Prince, that bird tamed me to begin waiting for her, studying her, delighting in her distinctive rhythms. Then one day I found her lying dead at the ponds edge, blood trickling from a wound in her temple. I grieved as if she were a member of my family, which she had become. A few days after her death, the spectral moment described in the third poem occurred. I was privileged to have what seems like a vision, a moment when nature speaks clearly, using its own images.
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