|On the Beach at Night|
|Walt Whitman (from Leaves of Grass, 1900)|
|On the beach at night,
Stands a child with her father,
Watching the east, the autumn sky.
Up through the darkness,
From the beach the child holding the hand of her father,
Weep not, child,
Then dearest child mournest thou only for Jupiter?
Something there is,
On Winter’s Margin
On winter’s margin, see the small birds now
With half-forged memories come flocking home
To gardens famous for their charity.
The green globe’s broken; vines like tangled veins
Hang at the entrance to the silent wood.
With half a loaf, I am the prince of crumbs;
By snow’s down, the birds amassed will sing
Like children for their sire to walk abroad!
But what I love, is the gray stubborn hawk
Who floats alone beyond the frozen vines;
And what I dream of are the patient deer
Who stand on legs like reeds and drink that wind; –
They are what saves the world: who choose to grow
Thin to a starting point beyond this squalor.
~by Mary Oliver
Image: Barn Owls by Hadley Hutton