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Within these pages Mary Oliver collects twenty-six of her poems about the birds that have been such an important part of her life-hawks, hummingbirds, and herons; kingfishers, catbirds, and crows; swans, swallows, and, of course, the snowy owl; among a dozen others-including ten poems original to this volume. She adds two beautifully crafted essays, "Owls," selected for th Within these pages Mary Oliver collects twenty-six of her poems about the birds that have been such an important part of her life-hawks, hummingbirds, and herons; kingfishers, catbirds, and crows; swans, swallows, and, of course, the snowy owl; among a dozen others-including ten poems original to this volume. She adds two beautifully crafted essays, "Owls," selected for the Best American Essays series, and "Bird," one that will surely take its place among the classics of the genre.


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Within these pages Mary Oliver collects twenty-six of her poems about the birds that have been such an important part of her life-hawks, hummingbirds, and herons; kingfishers, catbirds, and crows; swans, swallows, and, of course, the snowy owl; among a dozen others-including ten poems original to this volume. She adds two beautifully crafted essays, "Owls," selected for th Within these pages Mary Oliver collects twenty-six of her poems about the birds that have been such an important part of her life-hawks, hummingbirds, and herons; kingfishers, catbirds, and crows; swans, swallows, and, of course, the snowy owl; among a dozen others-including ten poems original to this volume. She adds two beautifully crafted essays, "Owls," selected for the Best American Essays series, and "Bird," one that will surely take its place among the classics of the genre.

30 review for Owls and Other Fantasies: Poems and Essays

  1. 4 out of 5

    Caterina

    These poems are like random treasures that a faraway friend has collected over the years, assembled into a care package, and flown to you by old-fashioned postal mail. You dip into the box, and one by one unwrap them, anticipating delight. Some are whimsical, some intense, some meditative. All are infused with love. All are about birds in the wild --owls and great blue herons and loons, a flicker, a kingfisher and many others. Interspersed with the poems are exquisite, finely detailed drawings o These poems are like random treasures that a faraway friend has collected over the years, assembled into a care package, and flown to you by old-fashioned postal mail. You dip into the box, and one by one unwrap them, anticipating delight. Some are whimsical, some intense, some meditative. All are infused with love. All are about birds in the wild --owls and great blue herons and loons, a flicker, a kingfisher and many others. Interspersed with the poems are exquisite, finely detailed drawings of feathers from different species. They appear from their delicacy to be pencil drawings but may be some kind of delicate etching. I found no credit given to any artist anywhere in the book. Could the drawings also be Ms. Oliver's? They appear to be by a single hand. Owls and Other Fantasies was just the right title. Along with many years of close observation of wild birds in their habits and habitats reported with fresh turns of phrase, these poems are full of fantasies -- speculations on the birds’ interior lives and motivations, whimsical anthropomorphies into poets, philosophers, preachers -- and imaginations of death and life beyond. Owls — clearly the birds that most fascinate Ms. Oliver — appeared in at least two strong poems and an essay. In Little Owl Who Lives in the Orchard His beak could open a bottle, and his eyes—when he lifts their soft lids— go on reading something just beyond your shoulder— Blake, maybe or the Book of Revelation. . . . it’s not size but surge that tells us when we’re in touch with something real, and when I hear him in the orchard fluttering down the little aluminum ladder of his scream— And in White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field like an angel or a buddha with wings, it was beautiful and accurate, striking the snow and whatever was there with a force that left the imprint of the tips of its wings— leaving Mary Oliver to speculate, in the bird’s aftermath: maybe death isn’t darkness after all, but so much light wrapping itself around us— as soft as feathers— that we are instantly weary of looking, and looking, and shut our eyes, not without amazement, and let ourselves be carried, as through the translucence of mica, to the river that is without the least dapple of shadow— that is nothing but light—scalding, aortal light— in which we are washed and washed out of our bones. I find a courage of freedom here, a release of imagination — this is not how we moderns are supposed to think of death — but why not? It's a sublime vision. On the other hand, at the center of this book is a powerful and sober essay about death that turns out to be about the great intensity of life in a dying creature. On a December morning, two year ago, I brought a young, injured black-backed gull home from the beach. It was, in fact, Christmas morning, as well as bitter cold, which may account for my act. Injured gulls are common: nature’s maw receives them again implacably; almost never is rescue justified by a return to health and freedom. And neither did this gull return to health and freedom — but for quite a long time, it regained strength and lived with Mary and her partner, all the while declining, to the point where, as a mercy We tried to kill him, with sleeping pills, but he only slept for a long time … then woke with his usual brightness. The bird lived on for months, withering yet playful -- And still the eyes were full of the spices of amusement. A straightforward recounting of the experience, this essay felt to me like an anchor at the center of the book’s swirl of fantasy.

  2. 5 out of 5

    Peycho Kanev

    He was, of course, a piece of the sky. His eyes said so. This is not fact, this is the other part of knowing something, when there is no proof, but neither is there any way toward disbelief. Imagine lifting the lid from a jar and finding it filled not with darkness but with light. Bird was like that. Startling, elegant, alive. But the day we knew must come did at last, and then the non-responsiveness of his eyes was terrible. It was late February when I came downstairs, as usual, before dawn. The He was, of course, a piece of the sky. His eyes said so. This is not fact, this is the other part of knowing something, when there is no proof, but neither is there any way toward disbelief. Imagine lifting the lid from a jar and finding it filled not with darkness but with light. Bird was like that. Startling, elegant, alive. But the day we knew must come did at last, and then the non-responsiveness of his eyes was terrible. It was late February when I came downstairs, as usual, before dawn. Then returned upstairs, to M. The sweep and play of the morning was just beginning, its tender colors reaching everywhere. “The little gull has died,” I said to M., as I lifted the shades to the morning light.

  3. 5 out of 5

    Maughn Gregory

    "Every day I walk out into the world to be dazzled, then to be reflective." She does, and she teaches us how to do both. Of the hawk, she writes: "this is not something of the red fire, this is heaven's fistful of death and destruction ..." And of the crow: "... who has seen anything cleaner, bolder, more gleaming, more certain of its philosophy than the eye he turns back?" To me she writes: "Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese "Every day I walk out into the world to be dazzled, then to be reflective." She does, and she teaches us how to do both. Of the hawk, she writes: "this is not something of the red fire, this is heaven's fistful of death and destruction ..." And of the crow: "... who has seen anything cleaner, bolder, more gleaming, more certain of its philosophy than the eye he turns back?" To me she writes: "Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting-- over and over announcing your place in the family of things." And: "Listen, everyone has a chance. Is it spring, is it morning? Are there trees near you, and does your own soul need comforting? Quick, then--open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song may already be drifting away." And: "The catbrier is without fault. The water thrushes, down among the sloppy rocks, are going crazy with happiness. Imagination is better than a sharp instrument. To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work." I'm off then, to do some of that good work.

  4. 5 out of 5

    Denny

    Poems and two essays about birds. This poet really knows how to turn a phrase. Never mind that he is only a memo from the offices of fear. I know this bird. If it could,it would eat the whole world.

  5. 5 out of 5

    Sarah Ansani

    Mary Oliver--a follower of spirit animals, is my spirit animal. In this book, she muses on the feathered menagerie near her home [at that time]. When some equate owls with omens, she equates them with blood-lust and duty. A flying, clawed, downy vehicle of purposed living. The "other fantasies" within this slim volume include the dipping and rising starlings, and my favorite poem, about the Catbird. "For he will never sing for the kingdom of dollars. For he will never grow pockets in his gray win Mary Oliver--a follower of spirit animals, is my spirit animal. In this book, she muses on the feathered menagerie near her home [at that time]. When some equate owls with omens, she equates them with blood-lust and duty. A flying, clawed, downy vehicle of purposed living. The "other fantasies" within this slim volume include the dipping and rising starlings, and my favorite poem, about the Catbird. "For he will never sing for the kingdom of dollars. For he will never grow pockets in his gray wings."

  6. 5 out of 5

    Jee Koh

    Somebody had the bright idea of collecting Mary Oliver's bird poems, and voila! Owls and Other Fantasies was born. 16 out of 25 poems (i.e. about a third of the book) came from earlier books, as did 1 of the 2 essays. The book is obviously targeted at birders and Mary Oliver's fans; its commercial considerations overshadow whatever aesthetic merit it has. The verse is best described as pandering. Its questions are obvious, its spirituality is tinselly, its consolations cheap. The first poem of th Somebody had the bright idea of collecting Mary Oliver's bird poems, and voila! Owls and Other Fantasies was born. 16 out of 25 poems (i.e. about a third of the book) came from earlier books, as did 1 of the 2 essays. The book is obviously targeted at birders and Mary Oliver's fans; its commercial considerations overshadow whatever aesthetic merit it has. The verse is best described as pandering. Its questions are obvious, its spirituality is tinselly, its consolations cheap. The first poem of the book begins: You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. I want to shout back, "But I want to be good! I want to walk on my knees through the desert! Who are you to tell me that I don't have to?" Certainly not someone who tempts me with such an easy way out as "the world offers itself to your imagination." The cliches abound, like birds, in this collection. The earlier poems offer glimpses of an earlier power. "The Swan," from House of Light (1990) is delicate and observant, though not without its clunkers. "Little Owl Who Lives in the Orchard," from the same book, is half-in-love with death. These poems question nature as well as themselves. They do the real work of spiritual quest that the book only pretends to.

  7. 5 out of 5

    David

    I think you all already know how much I love Mary Oliver. These poems, and especially the essays, are wonderful.

  8. 4 out of 5

    Carolanne Deaton

    I'm grateful for reading this collection because it taught me that my love of nature in poetry has changed. There were a couple places where I wanted to put the book down, but I knew that if I did, I wouldn't want to pick it back up. Oliver's poems have always intrigued me, and I have loved the poems I have read from her in the past. My recent interest in owls led me to pick up this collection while I was in D.C., and while it didn't hold my interest the entire time, I still recognize the beauty I'm grateful for reading this collection because it taught me that my love of nature in poetry has changed. There were a couple places where I wanted to put the book down, but I knew that if I did, I wouldn't want to pick it back up. Oliver's poems have always intrigued me, and I have loved the poems I have read from her in the past. My recent interest in owls led me to pick up this collection while I was in D.C., and while it didn't hold my interest the entire time, I still recognize the beauty in her writing. I could see every creature she described, and was able to see the parallels with our world. "Bird" will stay with me for awhile. If you need a happy cry, make sure you read that one.

  9. 5 out of 5

    Kerri Anne

    This collection found me during one of the toughest and most bittersweet weeks of this year, and like all good poetry (and nearly all of Oliver's poems), I'm so grateful for it. So many lines that sing like so many birds I love to watch fly. [Five stars for poems that will forever remind me of my connections to so many precious places, and that I'll forever connect with some of the most important people in my life.]

  10. 5 out of 5

    Ashley Ford

    A few poems at night before bed...Mary Oliver is a master.

  11. 5 out of 5

    Rowan

    One of my favorite poets, one of her favorite animals.

  12. 5 out of 5

    Anne

    I am happy to have spent the majority of today reading Mary Oliver’s poetry. An entire book of poetry and essays about birds. This book was made for me. I want to write one of my own.

  13. 4 out of 5

    Debbie

    I don't like poetry very much, but I love Mary Oliver's poetry. Her reflections about nature are so beautiful. She makes you want to go out and take a walk in the woods.

  14. 4 out of 5

    Mark Robison

    Another compilation of previously published poems and essays, with a handful of new ones, in this case all about birds. Oliver is simply amazing. She makes subjects you may not care about feel meaningful and inspiring and filled with, for lack of a better word from my atheist brain, grace. While all of the essays are short and powerful, I especially liked the one about caring for a crippled gull she found on the beach for three months one winter. She called him Bird: “He was, of course, a piece Another compilation of previously published poems and essays, with a handful of new ones, in this case all about birds. Oliver is simply amazing. She makes subjects you may not care about feel meaningful and inspiring and filled with, for lack of a better word from my atheist brain, grace. While all of the essays are short and powerful, I especially liked the one about caring for a crippled gull she found on the beach for three months one winter. She called him Bird: “He was, of course, a piece of the sky. His eyes said so. This is not fact, this is the other part of knowing something, when there is no proof, but neither is there any way toward disbelief. Imagine lifting the lid from a jar and finding it filled not with darkness but with light. Bird was like that. Startling, elegant, alive.” Of course, then he dies and rips your heart out. And here’s an excerpt from a poem flipped to at random, called “Catbird”: “Since I see him every morning, I have rewarded myself the pleasure of thinking that he knows me./ Yet never once has he answered my nod./ He seems, in fact, to find in me a kind of humor, I am so vast, uncertain and strange./ I am the one who comes and goes, and who knows why./ Will I ever understand him?/ Certainly he will never understand me, or the world I come from./ For he will never sing for the kingdom of dollars./ For he will never grow pockets in his gray wings.” Grade: A

  15. 4 out of 5

    Stacie

    Owls and Other Fantasies: Poems and Essays, by Mary Oliver, is a beautiful bird inspired collection. Oliver, a contemporary American poet, is well known for her intimate, rich descriptions of the natural world. This collection includes 26 free verse and prose poems, as well as two essays. It is a celebration of all winged, singing creatures in nature, of both their simplicity and complexity, their flight and songs. Oliver takes the time to carefully observe and understand them through her words. Owls and Other Fantasies: Poems and Essays, by Mary Oliver, is a beautiful bird inspired collection. Oliver, a contemporary American poet, is well known for her intimate, rich descriptions of the natural world. This collection includes 26 free verse and prose poems, as well as two essays. It is a celebration of all winged, singing creatures in nature, of both their simplicity and complexity, their flight and songs. Oliver takes the time to carefully observe and understand them through her words. Some of my favorites of the collection were "White Owl Flies Into & Out of the Field," "Starlings in Winter," "While I Am Writing a Poem to Celebrate Summer, the Meadowlark Begins to Sing," "The Dipper," and "The Swan." Like the birds, her words fly with ease across each page, landing in the hearts of readers who, without doubt, will be inspired by them.

  16. 5 out of 5

    Donna

    . . . so long as you don't mind a little dying, how could there be a day in your whole life that doesn't have its splash of happiness? --The Kingfisher Reading Mary Oliver's work is a sacrament and a benediction. Although the subject is birds, Owls and Other Fantasies is a sacred text that discloses the meaning of life, framing its joy and its beauty without overlooking or denying any part of it, including death. A plain-spoken poet who weaves her spells with everyday images, Oliver is accessible . . . so long as you don't mind a little dying, how could there be a day in your whole life that doesn't have its splash of happiness? --The Kingfisher Reading Mary Oliver's work is a sacrament and a benediction. Although the subject is birds, Owls and Other Fantasies is a sacred text that discloses the meaning of life, framing its joy and its beauty without overlooking or denying any part of it, including death. A plain-spoken poet who weaves her spells with everyday images, Oliver is accessible to anyone willing to put aside the mundane for a few brief moments and take a fresh look at the world.

  17. 5 out of 5

    Katharine Holden

    Loved the essay "Bird" so much I want to hand it around to people I know.

  18. 4 out of 5

    Ami

    A magnificent anthology. This is one of two collections by Mary Oliver long looked forward to that finally arrived on my doorstep. I meant to read only one or two poems, but instead settled in for the whole book. Poetry and essays and lovely prose in this and other recently read volumes have all signaled a shift to a more meditative state of looking inward as I reflect on the beauty of life and even death as the year draws to a close. The bit of unexpected whimsy swirling throughout perfectly ti A magnificent anthology. This is one of two collections by Mary Oliver long looked forward to that finally arrived on my doorstep. I meant to read only one or two poems, but instead settled in for the whole book. Poetry and essays and lovely prose in this and other recently read volumes have all signaled a shift to a more meditative state of looking inward as I reflect on the beauty of life and even death as the year draws to a close. The bit of unexpected whimsy swirling throughout perfectly tied the previously published works to the new. When I read a new volume of poetry, I jump around to each offering like a child in a candy store; I rarely read straight through it the first time. I might pick the first title to catch my attention or let the volume open randomly. In this case, Long Afternoon at the Edge of Little Sister Pond caught my attention first. As for life, I'm humbled, I'm without words sufficient to say how it has been hard as flint, and soft as a spring pond, both of these and over and over, and ling pale afternoons besides, and so many mysteries beautiful as eggs in a nest, still unhatched though warm and watched over by something I have never seen ~ a tree angel, perhaps, or a ghost of holiness. Every day I walk out into the world to be dazzled, then to be reflective. It suffices, it is all comfort ~ The entire poem is me, but the line, "Every day I walk out into the world to be dazzled, then to be reflective." resonated with me as it markedly describes myself. A hasty "I'll just take the dog for a quick walk; back in a few." can often turn into long multiple mile wanderings as we meander along meeting other dogs, watch the birds and squirrels, contemplating the views as we rest near a pond, enjoying the clean air after a recent rain or the crunch of a new snowfall, sharing our breath with the trees as we ramble through a nearby preserve etc. and above all, the introspection of taking many pictures; I will often bring home a plethora of shots. Birds, plants, flowers, rain drops, insects, the dog. I am the despair of my mother because a twenty minute walk is often doubled if not tripled even if I swear I'll only be a few minutes. I love birds and while I am barely an amateur ornithologist, they bring me much joy over the year. The Canada Geese signaling the change of seasons. Robins and Chickadees heralding winter and the Yule season. A Redwinged Blackbird bringing tidings of spring. Watching the nests full of younglings in the summer. The memory of herons nesting on the bell towers when I was a young child. The wild beauty of the hawks and eagles in skeletal trees and on the power poles as an adult. So herein were many friends as well as some newly made. Interspersed among the owls, wrens, crows and starlings were a kingfisher, great blue herons, meadowlarks, a flicker, hummingbirds and loons, a gull, and more. There is much love here and several other lines in particularly caught my attention. "He was, of course, a piece of the sky." and "The light of the body is the eye ." was from my favorite essay entitled Bird about a little rescued gull that shared a slice of his life. It reminded me that while our worlds can touch and even mingle for a while, it is only ever a temporary and fleeting joy. From White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field so I thought: maybe death isn’t darkness after all, but so much light wrapping itself around us~ as soft as feathers~ that we are instantly weary of looking, and looking, and shut our eyes, not without amazement, and let ourselves be carried, as through the translucence of mica, to the river that is without the least dapple of shadow~ that is nothing but light ~ scalding, aortal light ~ in which we are washed and washed out of our bones. From The Dipper and, just as certainly, he has been sleeping for decades in the leaves beside the stream, his crumble of white bones, his curl of flesh comfortable even so. And from the other poem that spoke the most, Wild Geese Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting- over and over announcing your place in the family of things. Recently I said goodbye to a dear furry friend. I was there as she came into the world, I rejoiced and despaired with her for sixteen years, and I was with her at the end. It has been a hard time for my family but this small volume brought a lot of unexpected comfort. There is freedom here to rejoice in a life well lived.

  19. 5 out of 5

    Blair

    I so enjoy Mary Oliver and this was another great collection. I picked this up because I think owls are incredible and spent some enjoyable time with these. Favorites (I finally remembered to mark them): Wild Geese Owls The Kingfisher - "how could there be a day in your whole life that doesn't have its splash of happiness?" Little Owl Who Lives in the Orchard White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field - "maybe death isn't darkness, after all, but so much light wrapping itself around us" Starlings in Wi I so enjoy Mary Oliver and this was another great collection. I picked this up because I think owls are incredible and spent some enjoyable time with these. Favorites (I finally remembered to mark them): Wild Geese Owls The Kingfisher - "how could there be a day in your whole life that doesn't have its splash of happiness?" Little Owl Who Lives in the Orchard White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field - "maybe death isn't darkness, after all, but so much light wrapping itself around us" Starlings in Winter - "I want to think again of dangerous and noble things. I want to be light and frolicsome. I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing, as though I had wings." "Improbable beautiful;" just, wow. Mary Oliver makes one feel all the feels.

  20. 4 out of 5

    Jim Puskas

    This slim volume, like most of Mary Oliver's works can be read in a couple of hours; but it's more effective taken in small sips, like a gently aged Madeira. Time slows down while you're savoring these little gems. Oliver seems to have adjusted her pace of life and ordered her thoughts to be in harmony with the natural world that occupies her work. This is a book to leave next to a sunny windowsill or on an old-fashioned porch swing, where you can pick it up from time to time to fill in the gaps This slim volume, like most of Mary Oliver's works can be read in a couple of hours; but it's more effective taken in small sips, like a gently aged Madeira. Time slows down while you're savoring these little gems. Oliver seems to have adjusted her pace of life and ordered her thoughts to be in harmony with the natural world that occupies her work. This is a book to leave next to a sunny windowsill or on an old-fashioned porch swing, where you can pick it up from time to time to fill in the gaps during quiet moments in the garden, perhaps at mid-day when the birds are taking a rest in their shady refuges.

  21. 5 out of 5

    Karen GoatKeeper

    Being a collection of free verse poems, some poems are appreciated more than others. Several describe different birds. Oliver's descriptions made me stop and think, and, yes, her description is apt and one I am glad to consider. Free verse can be difficult to read. I found some of the phrasing in different poems detracted from the poem as the line breaks seemed awkward. Rereading the poem with breaks comfortable to me, made several much more enjoyable. The two essays were interesting. The book is s Being a collection of free verse poems, some poems are appreciated more than others. Several describe different birds. Oliver's descriptions made me stop and think, and, yes, her description is apt and one I am glad to consider. Free verse can be difficult to read. I found some of the phrasing in different poems detracted from the poem as the line breaks seemed awkward. Rereading the poem with breaks comfortable to me, made several much more enjoyable. The two essays were interesting. The book is short. It is best read over several days to give time to contemplate the different poems.

  22. 5 out of 5

    Kristie

    A short collection of poems and essays all dedicated to birds. Different species are lovingly observed and described. There's something about Mary Oliver's writing that makes me think of Emily Dickinson. There's a feeling of solitude, of overcast days, and scraggly trees with no leaves. I loved the essay on the wounded gull she finds and tries to rehabilitate, aware of the inevitable but denying it all the same. This book is a little treasure I'm glad I discovered.

  23. 4 out of 5

    Rachel

    It’s about owls and birds but not really - life, death and everything beyond it. I’m caring for and observing them Mary Oliver comments on our fleeting human mortality. Mostly comprised of poems and a couple of essays. My favorites were the essay called “Bird” and a poem “Long Afternoon at the Edge of Little Sister Pond”

  24. 4 out of 5

    Lee

    Mary Oliver has a way of enchanting you with her well written poems. It takes you along with her to explore the beauty of the planet we usually take for granted. Her words inspires imagination, compassion, and they open your eyes to see what she sees. Beauty is every where you just have to look closely to let your imagination run wild!

  25. 5 out of 5

    Ashley Setzer

    Mother Nature could choose no better ambassador than Mary Oliver. She communicates such vast ideas of life and death in such simple, beautiful words. Reading her poems brings small details of the world around me into sharp focus, rendering something as casual as spotting an owl into a reflection on fear, oblivion, and terrifying beauty.

  26. 4 out of 5

    Livia

    Lovely and heartbreaking, Oliver's words paint portraits of the birds she observes in life. The stories, whether in poem or essay form, are lyrical and playful, while also leaving you with a chill not much unlike that of autumn on the Cape.

  27. 5 out of 5

    Julie Akeman

    A beautiful collection of bird poems. Really a keeper. Included are a couple of short essays elegiac in their prose which mirror the ever present beauty of the natural world and the inevitability of death but still pushes you on to open your eyes and drink up the life.

  28. 5 out of 5

    Isa

    the poems were three stars at best -- nowhere near her usual level of poignancy, i think -- but the essays, as usual, were gorgeous.

  29. 4 out of 5

    Starre Vartan

    Delightful to read aloud to oneself in the middle of a busy workday!

  30. 4 out of 5

    Mike

    Beautiful. Just read it. In small pieces. Some of the best writing about nature that I've ever seen.

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