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March 22nd  2011    Tim Candler

    Got the sense the Close Mockingbird was wooing a Brown Thrasher.   And again I caught the Close Mockingbird sneezing.  So he may be in relapse, or his winter cold might have rocked his mind just a little. 

    Which would be a terrible shame because his voice is powerful and unless he soon acquires a tolerant bride he will sing on through summer nights. Into June, July and August.  Louder and louder, and sadder and sadder.

     Last year,  his predecessor, spent his last days calling to the night.  Just outside the window of the room where I sleep, he was.  Three, four o'clock in the morning.  Unearthly hours for those of us who are sedentary and also near to the grave.

     Now I think of how angry with him I became. Intolerant to his heartbreak, I was.  Quite irrational I became, banging at the window, and when it was my turn to sniff the air, walk about outside, I'd glare at him.

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