At last, this trip to the wrong side of the world has given me the extra summer I had wanted all along. It's doubly good, because had I not been up, still reading in bed because I couldn't sleep on this hot night, I wouldn't have heard the kiwis making their strange calls outside. I'd heard these potato birds lived out in the brush here, and now I know it's true: As I type this, they're saying their own species name to each other --- two syllables, spoken a little sadly --- and waiting for others to say the name back.
I've never heard them before.
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