Saturday, August 9, 2008


In a dark recess of the local museum, stuffed birds—bittern, heron in dusty glass cases—reminiscent of exhibits in the museum of my childhood, the big house in Broomfield Park through which Miss B. who once darted from a sum-filled blackboard to point out the first swift would lead us on our weekly nature walks. A stone's throw from the road where Stevie Smith lived and wrote of it, 'How sweet the birds of Avondale.'

found feather
between my fingers
splayed and smoothed
by Diana Webb
London, England

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