IN THE COTTAGE

4 5 R I N T H E C O T T A G E K A T H L E E N W I N T E R a thrush is caught beneath the glass ceiling – must be a she because of the irony, plus her coloring is nothing fancy. The racket woke me at 5:20, I thought a horse shaking its mane but this was feathers in a fury. I opened both doors, the rest of the windows, climbed back to my loft to hope she’ll fly in time for a calm co√ee. Her cry is the squeak of a fire alarm’s expired batteries except irregular, alive with pique and worry. Cill Rialaig is Gaelic: Church of the Regulars. This regular didn’t follow the rule but rather left her church, the sky, soon to regret it. So do I. ...