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On birds—feathered messengers from deep time


PhysOrg
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When I experienced a great loss in in my early forties—almost a year to the day after another—I went to see my mother in the family home. She wasn't a hugger or giver of advice, so instead we fed the birds. As she had when I was a child, she stood behind me in the kitchen with her shoulder propped against the back door, passing slices of apple and small balls of minced meat into my hand.

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