| Comforts of the Cuckoo
I heard the first cuckoo of my year an hour ago. In Connemara you usually
saw her and heard her at the same time, the grayblue shape of her being
harried fiercely by two or three smaller dunnocks or sparrows or tits who
knew, somewhere inside their feathers, that she’d poach a place in their
nests if she got half a chance.
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