BIRDSONG

I live in the middle of a hay field. After spring rains and sunshine, the hay is almost shoulder high.

The field is populated with meadowlarks and red wing blackbirds. Other kinds of birds burble and twitter in the fence rows and in the copse behind the house.

The windows are open right now. I sit here and write in an aviary.

I wish there was a way to bottle up birdsong, like some kind of auricular perfume, so that I could send you a vial.