This bird alit on the cable outside the window of the place where I'm staying. Its call, craning its neck upward like a wolf howling to the moon, sounds like squeaky hand breaks on a bicycle coming down a hill, but I'm sure it's beautiful music to its mate. Don't know its name yet.Speaking of names, I haven't decided yet what to do about naming people, given the public nature of a blog. I'm staying with a friend I met in Paris in 2001 in the flat she and her partner just bought on Balaclava Road in East St. Kilda, a Jewish part of Melbourne. They're wonderfully hospitable, and she's the perfect guide to Melbourne. Is it excessive discretion or valor on my part not to tell you her name, too?
