Suppose, shall we, in a clearing circled by trees tall like rain in the starry sky, the trails of small birds by day strung from one to one, around. In this clearing twenty-two of us circled around one good fire smoke rising all of us gathered around, all of us upstanding and warm. And there she comes. Such large white bird down down to us in a big spiraling down among us lands and we hush. We hush there still, we say yes to that good landing. Just breathing in and out again we love that bird like our own good grandpa with us again. Like he just came right back today, drawn by the fire by the twenty-two hearts beating in this clearing, here he comes. Music. Oh, the strings like so many old ones from Tennessee: this one with banjo here, and that one. We listen, the bird here tall standing with us, all her talons piercing the earth.