Spring 2015
Epigraph
The Opechee by Douglas Thornton
A bird late winter sang
In sweet and simple tune;
The sounds I thought betrayed a man
If he was passing through.
From branch to bush the bird
Flew down to hide in his retreat,
But still I looked about
For him I could not see.
Beyond the hills the drift of light
Will rest in solitude,
Where distant friends with lag
Return not till the flocks will bring
The Raven-Moon, await
To meet these lands again.
Yet sit I in this mingled world
To watch as they go by,
While a bird still singing
Out, never man I hear reply.
The Linnet's Wings New Voices