The goose has finished laying her eggs. Of her exquisite dozen, the snapping turtle wants its share.
The owl is peaceful, until he is hungry.
Can you hear the voice of the ferns up-pushing, the little whippets of fresh air running through the trees?
The energy of attempt is greater than the surety of stasis.
[Oh! Procrastination, inertia, the greatest of sins, resistance – ID]
Responsibility has tamed the phoebe.
[‘People have forgotten this truth,’ the fox said. ‘But you mustn’t forget it. You become responsible forever for what you’ve tamed. You’re responsible for your rose’, zegt Antoine de Saint-Exupéry in The Little Prince – ID]
All the eight notes Mozart didn’t have time to use before he entered the cloudburst, he gave to the wren.
[wren = winterkoninkje]
[Eastern Phoebe = vogeltje dat liefst vliegen vangt, weinig tijd met andere doorbrengt, Black Phoebe is supermonogaam, een prachtig zwart bevederd vogeltje dat op zijn buik door een witte substantie heeft gesurfd die hem nog steeds aankleefd – ID]
Behind the glimmering cheerfulness of Bach there hangs a black thread.
The owl’s face is like a feathered plate. Or, maybe, a judge.
[Dat beeld zocht ik. De Sand Dab op de bodem van de oceaan oogt als een zanderig bord. Of, misschien, een aanwezige afwezige – ID]
No gift greater than ecstasy, unless it’s patience.
The brawn, the silence, the thick crown of the black oak compose a life that is not to be despised.
In nature what looks like ornamentation is always of the greatest utility.
You too can be carved anew by the details of your devotions.
Long life (2004), Mary Oliver
[Praxis, and all is coming. To do (too) whatever best awakens you to love.]