(Read this first.)
THANK YOU FOR BEING HERE!!!!! I didn’t get to say it at the very end, so let’s start there.
-
This episode is *packed*
It used to bother me a ton when I would plan too much for a show and then not get all of it in, but I know now that that’s just how it goes sometimes! More humanity leaking through.
I’m happy about the poem I chose, but I didn’t want to shortchange other elements, so I decided at the end to read as much as I could, so you could hear some of the lilt, and include the rest below :)
Allow, if you will, the slightly unfinished sound at the close to evoke for you the idea that there is always more to come.
-
This Morning Again It Was in the Dusty Pines
by Mary Oliver
Not in shyness but in disgust
the owl
turns its face from me and pours itself
into the air, hurrying
until it is out of sight —
and, after all,
even if we came by some miracle
upon a language which we both knew,
what is it I might say
there in the orange light of early morning,
in the owl's resting time,
that would have any pluck and worth in it? —
not admonition, or blame,
and not recrimination,
and not, I say, unholy weeping,
and not, for god's sake, any bending of the knees
in the cold and rough grass
under its gold and glassy eyes
which, in such a conversation, you must imagine
turned upon you.
So l cannot improve upon the scene
as it happens:
my opportunity
and my stony silence
as death
rises up —
god's bark-colored thumb -
and opens the sheath of its wings
and turns its hungry, hooked head
upon me, and away,
and softly,
lamp-eyed,
becomes the perfect, billowing instrument
as it glides
through the wind
like a knife.
-
What else can I say?
C ^_^
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