In a week where Jack Abramoff pleaded guilty and gave us a glimmer of hope that the Republican stranglehold on American politics would come to an end, and twelve miners breathed their last breaths in the hellish underworld of coal, three finches sat on a bird feeder unaware of their irrelevance on earth.
The quail eats black-oil sunflower and safflower seeds that have fallen to the ground from the bird feeder. It has no vote and no voice. It has me, a vote without a voice.
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