They always show the birds on TV. Black all over, matted, and unrecognizable. I wonder if the people watching even know what the birds looked like before. Vero used to track the murres around the sound. Their heads were always black, but their feathers were snow white. I told Vero’s kid once that if the fish stopped coming, we’d have to hunt the birds. She cried and cried. Stupid joke. Doesn’t matter. They’re all dead now, the fish, the birds, Vero. They never put Vero on the TV, only the birds.
Continue reading “Cordova, AK 1990”
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