Through our airtight window, a stork that could pick a frog off your head walks like it thinks. There are earthmovers at work here but the stork walks the strip of grass they've left between the old railway and a little patch of ground that hath in it Poland's next parking lot. We watched the men lay a concrete pipe into the stream where we used to watch a heron walk. We're watching the men now fill the bogle grass with sand and tamp it flat. When the asphalt covers over you'll never know where we watched deer run mornings away. A stork walking is bad luck.