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Tre cose strane

Three strange things happened on my way to work this morning.

I saw a dead crow in the middle of the road.

The sun came out.

I passed a mezzo-soprano practicing in Waterfront Park.

I was so struck by the strange magic of the other two things that I stopped, turned around, and went back to ask her what she was singing. She, it turns out, was a young man with sweet, wild features, his blue nylon windbreaker hood pulled up around his face. He finished his song as I listened.

"What are you singing?"

"Amarilli mia bella," he said, "by Giulio Caccini. He wrote it not very long after Columbus came to America."

We spoke for a few moments, he made sure I had the song title right ("It's standard," he said. "You can find it in Twenty-Four Italian Songs and Arias." "I had that book once!" I replied. "Well, find it again," said he); I thanked him for singing and he thanked me for riding my bike, and I went on to work.

I don't know how to weave these three things together yet.

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