| It was a crisp and spicy morning in early
October. The lilacs and laburnums, lit with the glory-fires of autumn, hung
burning and flashing in the upper air, a fairy bridge provided by kind nature
for the wingless wild things that have their home in the tree-tops and would
visit together; the larch and the pomegranate flung their purple and yellow
flames in brilliant broad splashes along the slanting sweep of woodland,
the sensuous fragrance of innumerable deciduous flowers rose upon the swooning
atmosphere, far in the empty sky a solitary oesophagus slept upon motionless
wing; everywhere brooded stillness, serenity, and the peace of God. - "A Double Barrelled Detective Story" |
 AI image created by Barbara Schmidt |
|
I published a short story lately and it was in that that I put the oesophagus.
I will say privately that I expected it to bother some people--in fact,
that was the intention--but the harvest has been larger than I was calculating
upon. The oesophagus has gathered in the guilty and the innocent alike,
whereas I was only fishing for the innocent--the innocent and confiding. It's aesophagus--and is perhaps the rarest bird that flies. The dictionary
will try to make you believe it isn't a bird at all; but don't you be
deceived. Many a time I've seen a million of them in a single flock. |
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