If she’s happy to see me, she comes toward me a bit, eats an ant and cocks her head; it reminds me of how Miss Fish will give her leg a lick and then look up fetchingly at me. It’s like the doing of an everyday activity implies intimacy, relaxation.
If she’s not happy to see me, she turns her back on me, or stuffs herself under a brick.
The Baronet was in the yard again, hassling Henri away from the feeder, but he didn’t really seem very fierce. Perhaps he remembers how crushed he was when the Red Baron, who is a true dick among birds, did the same to him just last summer. The Baronet is like Bryan Ferry, who said that when he rides in a limo to the airport, he well remembers standing in the cold rain to catch the bus. It’s different if you remember or if you don’t.
I have a dinner tonight with painter, writer and scientist Bill Hartmann; it’s the official kickoff to the first round of interviews for the little cascade that will come to a head in Fall. Next week, I head to MIT.