Poseidon
The whale sang on Tuesdays. I noticed this after three months of recording, which is not something a reasonable person would notice, which is probably why everyone in Connemara thinks I am mad. His name was Poseidon—not my name, his own. I knew this because I had named him, and he had responded to the name not with words, for whales do not speak words, but with a pattern in his song that I...
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