I finally captured a silhouette of Wilhelm as the sun came up this morning. He stayed longer than usual, so still he seemed a figment of my imagination, until with a piercing cry he dove headlong into the forest. Before I could blink, he was upon the branch again, his prey in his great talons. One fell swoop*as Shakespeare would write, but Wilhelm's efficient nature instantly put in mind this passage from A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce:
“You have asked me what I would do and what I would not do. I will tell you what I will do and what I will not do. I will not serve that in which I no longer believe, whether it call itself my home, my fatherland or my church: and I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can, and as wholly as I can, using for my defence the only arms I allow myself to use . . . silence, exile, and cunning.”
* A large black cat slowly crossed my path on a curving back road yesterday and now I am quoting from the Scottish Play...I'll be tossing salt over my shoulder all day for this.