Image via WikiCommons user Stewart Butterfield  

Last December I was playing golf at Patriot’s Point, across the Cooper River from Charleston, SC, a course thronged with many sorts of wading birds and compelling views of Ft. Sumter and Charleston’s outer harbor where, as Charlestonians like to say, the Ashley and the Cooper Rivers come together to form the Atlantic Ocean. A little green heron of the type that is known in some places as a “Fly-up-the-creek” or “Shitepoke” flew across the fairway some fifty yards in front of me, spraying sheets of excrement. The sight brought to my mind a fragment of verse: “let their liquid siftings fall.” I immediately addressed my mental energy...


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