Monday, May 31, 2004


This afternoon the mountains are hidden by the veils of the heavy rains that arrived around noon after a chill wind that vortexed for hours in white whirls across the surface of the Lake in a sort of warmup before the main act, from whose now windless silver midst comes the long liquid song of the manic warbler, who sits in a tree in the drumrain singing of sunshine and joy and all the good things that come in a long cascade of honeyed notes, on and on from the heart of the falling water...


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