In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

84 ∂ WindoW, bird, sky dAy nine What Do You Hear? A bird that calls five calls and waits for its mate. A roar of distant traffic or ocean that turns out to be wind. A caw like a door swinging open. The foghorns warn without cease: Here is rock, here is the edge. When the mate answers, the bird calls again five times. The trees look too large to creak but they do because of the wind. When the wind is up, even the small grasses find their low voice. Nothing to be made of any of it. No lessons in the afternoon sounds. Only the music as the sounds drift apart and float back together into silence. ...

Share