Apr 16, 2024
Before Dark
From the porch at dusk I watched a kingfisher wild in flight he could only have made for joy.
He came down the river, splashing against the water’s dimming face like a skipped rock, passing
on down out of sight. And still I could hear the splashes farther and farther away
as it grew darker. He came back the same way, dusky as his shadow, sudden beyond the willows.
The splashes went on out of hearing. It was dark then. Somewhere the night had accommodated him
—at the place he was headed for or where, led by his delight, he came.
Wendell Berry
