ANYWHERE IS WALKING DISTANCE IF YOU’VE GOT THE TIME*
A brisk perambulation at sundown, of an evening, a fine and flowering evening, in Flyinge. The sun was a huge orange ball o’fire aglow in the west. Between it and me the tall trees of the crow party loomed, a giant’s spiky picket fence. I could see all the crow’s nests, way up high. As I walked down the snail trail, the air cooled off and the crows became agitated at my presence even with their secure distance up in the treetops. RAWK! they all screamed, and they flapped and fleaped** from nest to branch and back again. The white...