Aldo was born on Jan 11, 1887. I’m reflecting on the month I spent one August in the wonderful cabin that Aldo designed and lived in for a year with his bride Estella, while he was a young supervisor for the Forest Service in New Mexico. I easily saw more than fifty species of birds while hiking up from the cabin in the early mornings. One bird who stays with me is the hermit thrush. This thrush seeks solitude, and would oh-so-innocently look away as I approached, and flee at the first opportunity. The pandemic, with its enforced isolation, was a welcome time to befriend the wildlife community around the cabin. In early September, mice began to come inside, and it was time for me to leave.

I have sent back the first round of edits for my next book, “The Grassland Queen.” The second round will be “language edits,” which are usually a pleasure to work through. I am making some pencil sketches of grassland birds and other animals for the book and may share something next month.

Lastly, when I had a case of flu over the holidays, I was cheered by a Christmas gift: “This Craft of Verse” by Jorge Luis Borges (The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press). A beautiful transcription of the lectures Borges gave at Harvard in 1967 and 1968. By this time, his “progressive blindness” made it impossible to read, and he gave the lectures from memory. He tackles a vital question: What makes poetry that rings, what makes poetry very much living?

Here’s one example of living poetry, which Borges cites from a translation of the “Rubaiyat” by Omar Khayyam.

Awake! For morning in the bowl of night

Has flung the stone that puts the stars to flight;

And, lo! the hunter of the east has caught

The Sultan’s turret in a noose of light.