I first met the crazy bird on a dreary gray winter afternoon, wandering in the wilderness, salvaging shards of my shattered mind (I had been trying so hard to find answers to question of hope and truth and faith and love) - suddenly, I heard my love singing, a crazy bird singing the melody of life, of the reality of love being aware.
What I have never understood is that the lark sings in the summer, but this was the middle of the winter, 1973, in the Happy Little Kingdom of Denmark:
[This time I'm using PODBEAN I won't say that pod-o-matic is useless, maybe it's just that I can't figure out how to use it - but in any case it doesn't do what I think I'm trying to tell it to do.]
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