The missing soundtrack

Do erratic bloggers need to offer excuses for their less punctual entries? The general consensus seems to be no, but this blogger, at least, feels compelled to give some explanation - especially when he sees that his Russian audience (137 hits, folks, from Russia in the last month) has been checking in regularly of late. So, my apologies, Moscow, and sorry, Tinkerbell Road: and I'll blame the lack of copy of late on 1950s Egyptian movie posters, on a happy jaunt to Brooklyn, on a lecture on Turkish art, and on my recent discovery of Myths Retold.

But of course, despite all of the pleasant distractions, I'm still dadding it up, as well, and you're presumably here to hear about that, rather than the mundane steps of proposing conference talks. So: on a fine recent afternoon Cleo and I headed to the now-familiar Maryland Zoo, where we spent some good time with the polar bears, the vultures, and the eerily lively crocodiles, who looked us in the eye, and pawed slowly with their prehistoric claws. But along the way the glint of the zoo's handsome merry-go-round caught Cleo's eye, and so we wound up with a handful of bright tokens and a spot on the otherwise empty platform. Your choice, Cleo: gorilla, giraffe, or horse? Horse, says the little girl, and so I hoist her up, and put the safety belt on, and then we're off: rao-u, rao-u, in Cleo's terms. And, really, it's complete fun, as the world arcs around us, with but one small caveat: oddly, there's no music. We ride, and our animals rise and fall, and the sun strikes us, and then recedes - but all we hear, along the way, is the squeaking of the machine and the chirps of a little bird who lives in the framework, and whose rest we've disturbed. So, Cleo, let's finish our ride with the help of the Internet. Here you can hear what we were missing - if, in fact, missing's the word for a ride that was nothing but enjoyable.