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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 9, Number 2, June 2015


Jeff Streeby
Bangkok, Thailand


A wren announcing
the scheme of one small space
with his rollicking song.

I’ve always thought it kind of funny how some unlooked for little thing like that can call up a memory, intact and vivid as the day it happened.

My daughter is 4. Today like every day, on the ride home from daycare she makes me turn off NPR—claims it makes her carsick. Like every day, she demands instead Michael Martin Murphey’s version of “The Ballad of Belle Starr.” She knows every verse (almost) and belts out her backup rendition at the top of her tiny lungs. This time, her six-year-old sister joins in and in the backseat, it’s a crazy duet of baby sopranos.

I’ll tell you what, any reminiscence like that is sure a nice thing to come across when you need it.

the brittle rattle of empty branches, then
the cardinal.



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