I made the acquaintance of My Lady Thrush again this
evening. The song of the thrush is quite astonishing in the complexity of its
range, tone and phrasing. It sounds more as though she’s holding a
conversation, but with whom or what? The spirit of twilight? Nothing was
answering her. I knew how she felt, and sympathised.
And then, much later, as the dusk was gathering to near-darkness,
the white wraith of the barn owl went hunting over the field on the other side
of the lane. The air was calm and mild, there was nothing to break the silence,
and the energy of Avalon came alive again. Evenings like that are so precious.
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