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While, I was a law student in Boston, I dwelled in a wondrous old 19th century townhouse on Wellington, across from a famous old jazz club. Frankly, I was miserable. I had not the slightest desire to be a lawyer. But even as I soldiered on through the bleak Boston winter, there was an old upright in my bedroom calling to me.

One day I saw a sparrow pecking in the snow outside my window. It was dusk and some music kicked in from across the yard.

I must have seen a redwing blackbird soaring somewhere, I think over the Fens in Boston. It was fascinating to see the flickers of red-orange amidst the black of its wings. The interesting thing about this song is that it's sort of like a stained glass window. Bird soars and sings, hunter hears call, hunter raises gun, shoots bird. Who's the hunter? Well, me I guess.

For my children. Fran and I took our toddler twins and baby son on a trip to Maine, stayed at a lovely house on an Edenic peninsula in Hancock Pond. One sunny day I saw a robin singing in a huge tree overhanging the porch. Took out my guitar and sang back to him.