April 1, 2015. Last night around 3 am, with the window cracked for the early spring air, we heard the calling swans–whistling swans once, now named tundra swans for their breeding grounds. Mysterious moment–they, lofted high above the glowing metropolis midway in their trek from Chesapeake Bay to the frozen shore of the Arctic Ocean, and we, tucked into a civilized bed in a boxed room in a densified urban realm. The wild meets the utterly tamed several hundred feet overhead, and two people are happy for it. Why? Let’s leave that for the anthropologists and psychologists and, in the meantime, simply muse about the beauty of it all as we drift back into sleep. – Kim
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