22 01 2008

Locked in a Victorian bell jar, seven birds perch, land, stare in perpetual paralysis: among them an evening grosbeak, a bluebird, a wren. Friends and family think me strange to have collected this bit of oddness. They think me bizarre to place it on a table in the livingroom where visitors will see it, where they will see it. It makes no sense for a sometimes vegetarian to own such a thing, I know, except that it propels me back to childhood and the university museums of England where explorers left their treasures, pinned and stuffed within vast, cluttered cabinets.




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