Sitting in a tree next to the 91 south lane near mile marker 14.8, the
field by the big farm. It sat there long enough for us to get off and
back on in Putney so I could get a good look at it, then flew to the
back of the field.
There is symbolic as well as actual beauty in the migration of birds. There
is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature--the
assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after the winter.