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In the photo, a tiny wren stalks spiders among the logs.
Below a catbird calling into the coming storm.
He mimics the things he likes from other bird's songs and adds his own ‘mew’ here and there.
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He keeps his prayer under his tongue.
In his whole life he has never missed the rising of the sun.
He dislikes snow.
But a few raisins give him the greatest delight.
He sits in the forelock of the lilac, or he struts
in its shadow. …Mary Oliver