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15 Tortoise-Shell Tweeter I did not ask to be given wings. I was happy earthbound, mud-stuck, slow-footed. But I am not slow-witted. Remember the hare, that arrogant long-eared loser? Like the burrowing owl, I prefer dark places, the thatch of branches, a permanent address. I build my nest low-slung in the limbs of the blue spruce, a prickly place for predators. Unlike the turtle, I am not a good swimmer. Sometimes I feel myself drowning in currents of air. The winds tug my domed back downward, spiraling through eddies of blue. Are there angels who regret their avian evolution? For what would they barter their wings? They say my tweet, my chirrup, my twitter has the sweetness of baby talk, the google and gurgle of first words. If I had speech I would say, Ground me. Turn these wings to shell, these feathers to scales. With my sharp claws I will dig a hole in the sky. ...

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