ABSTRACT
I had made a wild bird. My wild bird, feathered of head, with a red crest, its body made of bits of driftwood I had picked up while beachcombing, stood on a thick, scarlet-painted stand, its long legs straight, body arrested in almost-f light, its feathers f lecked with brown and pink. My bird stood ready to f ly, or to pick its way across the sand or through stones or long grass. My bird held its head at a sure angle for hearing and seeing, my bird picked its wooden way.
