Flocks I [M] Birds pass darkly migrating out of sight,sure in their way, living arrows for the austere heart of man.Like a field dreaming, birds rise gloriously against the sky,as morning brings its brightness. Daughters of the bright will divide the day with the...
Everything sang to us—: the pointed paintbrush tops of the cypress trees; the single palm; the dogs like clockwork each night for hours; the doves; the gravel walks; the swift scurrying lizards and the slow, armored beetles; the bats, swooping past as we walked down...
From: First_Vita_interview.wma (April 1, 13:04:20) Are we live? So, um, the president’s birdie is thick, like a thumb, and hard to find under the paunch and hair that make a nest for it to rest—or repose, if you think it’s better to be poetic when discussing the...
My time at this paradise, Civitella, was short, but very, very productive. My project, which I hoped to just make a start on, (a radio soundscape version of a particularly visual theatre play) astonishingly completed itself in my first nine days and, to my delight...
