19 March 2010. Gray dawn, with sun to follow...
The hoopoe returns--Leonard must have left him somewhere nearby, in the fold of a coat, or just behind the desk, upstairs, on a high shelf, where the rows of Roman poets hold forth, with some space for William Stafford and a Swede or two. Translations from the Sanscrit--that's it--brought forth in modern dress, a starry-eyed bird, clear-sighted when near the earth... Whistful...
Walking together across a canyon bride near the Tilden wetlands lake--the two of us--where a quiet morning remains to him filled with sound. I catch them after--he's told me where and when to look. The names, in Latin, understated but always with a certain eagerness......
Phaenopepla...
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