The Peregrine by J. A. Baker, 1967 (NYRB ed. 2005). A record of Baker's obsession with tracking a pair of peregrine falcons
Practically every sentence is quotable...
"I came late to the love of birds. For years I saw them only as a tremor at the edge of vision. They know suffering and joy in simple states not possible for us. Their lives quicken and warm to a pulse our hearts can never reach. They race to oblivion. They are old before we have finished growing."Being of an unfortunate poky and pedantic nature, I want to add––not some kinds of parrots.
Here is a sketch by Edward Lear, painter of parrots and nonsense, of himself as a bird. This probably suits me better. From the Nat'l Portrait Gallery, here.
1 comment:
"I came late to the love of birds."
I have a theory that almost all of us develop a love and fascination with birds as we get older. My next door neighbor was telling me about all the signs he's showing of getting older and I asked him if he'd started loving birds yet."
"Nope," he said.
"You will," I told him.
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