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37 Two Words Leaving Despite beaks and feathers, they commence to converse in all weathers, maiden aunts or widows in church pews, always in twos, chattering away a few minutes before the choir of songbirds rises from the chancel of branch and leaf, a hallelujah of wings resounding around the valley. In their striped capes, their Sunday best, they rest on the telephone wire, kited syllables draping tails of talk while we, nearby, trailing through goldenrod and fluffs of seed pods, look up to hear uncork and book spilled from the silliness above into our bewilderment, the two ladies flapping away like church fans. ...

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