The whooping cranes are now in Tennessee, the radio announcer said. They’re following a small airplane across the country: Operation Migration. How easily their abandoned hearts must have turned toward the steel bird, looking for a mother, guide, mentor. Much in the same way, I flip through my address book in search of the women whose bosoms are big, whose arms wrap around, perhaps who still lactate. The whooping cranes are North America’s most endangered bird. I see them – they all follow me in the azure sky while I soar above towns and cities. They follow me in hopes that one day I’ll be able to take care of them. My fear is that we shall all become endangered together; fly through a cloud and – poof – not come out the other side.

12/31/2006

Posted on 12/31/2006
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