Snow Buntings -- Plectrophenax nivalis, foraging along the Chicago lakefront in November...
with a poem by Rilke:
'See how everything unfolds: it's how we are;
for we're the bliss of such unfolding.
What was blood and darkness in an animal
grew on in us as soul and goes on
crying out as soul. And it cries for you.
You, though, take it only into your face
as if it were landscape: gently and without craving.
And therefore we suppose it can't be you
for whom it cries. And yet: aren't you the one
in whom we lose ourselves completely?
And is there another in whom we become more?
With us eternity is always passing.
But you abide, you mouth, so we may hear it--
but you, you sayer of us: abide.' ~ "The Song of the Women to the Poet" by Rainer Maria Rilke, 1907. translation by Edward Snow (no relation).