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By Ida Fasel / March 3, 1988

An icy day, the zoo all to myself. A crane stands on one long thin leg, the other locked in a tutu of feathers, head jammed inside wings. A polar day, the cold all to myself. On with it, crane! I prod with the white breath of my thought, my balance more and more unsteady as I wait, still as the partner I cannot match, whose access to patience seems infinite.

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A fierce day, the stage all to myself. The joy of the run! - knit cap for crown, over the frozen landscape so feathery in my wrapped and tied legs the crusted snow yields just enough to dance.