Poem for Tuesday and Fair Raptors

The Owl
By Edward Thomas

Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;
Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof
Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest
Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.

Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest,
Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I.
All of the night was quite barred out except
An owl’s cry, a most melancholy cry

Shaken out long and clear upon the hill,
No merry note, nor cause of merriment,
But one telling me plain what I escaped
And others could not, that night, as in I went.

And salted was my food, and my repose,
Salted and sobered, too, by the bird’s voice
Speaking for all who lay under the stars,
Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.

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Monday was muggy and uneventful. I had some writing to do, lots of photo stuff to catch up on after the weekend, plus laundry, cleaning up after cats, etc. In the afternoon, I watched this week's What If...? with a friend in London, which it's enormously fun to be able to do! Then we took a walk and had veggie cheesesteaks for dinner. 

We watched this week's Republic of Sarah (I like her much better as an idealistic politician than a know-it-all sanctimonious friend and relative) and now I'm watching The Pacifier because it was there and I'd managed never to see it before -- it's ridiculous and enjoyable, even passes the Bechdel Test. Wild bird rescue at the county fair: