Behind me in the palm trees, planted by the communist sabras before their country demanded they be something else, macaws croak a melodic scale. Before me, in the lapping waves of the wind-tossed afternoon sea, small fish bob underneath the translucent crests, quicksilver intimations of the life teeming underwater, of the schools of fish who have—for today—escaped the birds who migrate all the way from Sweden and the Congo, who congregate in the marshes several miles behind my head, who turn Lake Hula into an avian Burning Man.
what to tell the man who knows everything
what to tell the man who knows everything
what to tell the man who knows everything
Behind me in the palm trees, planted by the communist sabras before their country demanded they be something else, macaws croak a melodic scale. Before me, in the lapping waves of the wind-tossed afternoon sea, small fish bob underneath the translucent crests, quicksilver intimations of the life teeming underwater, of the schools of fish who have—for today—escaped the birds who migrate all the way from Sweden and the Congo, who congregate in the marshes several miles behind my head, who turn Lake Hula into an avian Burning Man.