Bicknell’s on the brink

had no sooner finished delivering a long, tedious telephone explanation of how, despite the rapidly melting glaciers and the alarmingly rising sea levels, one really couldn’t observe the effects of global warming in the backyard, than I poured myself a glass of wine and heard a wood thrush singing right outside the nearest window. I experienced a moment of complete mental bankruptcy, followed by a subtle wave of fear, and then heard the thrush again, singing like a liltingly lyrical postcard from