More poetry for you.
This poem by Ted Hughes is a reminder, gentle researcher, that there is intuitive processing needed to find meaning. This poem is a reminder that there are many mysteries still: we do not know where thoughts, or meaning, come from but by finding and analyzing, we can begin our deep thinking, and with creeping patience…understanding prevails, and the page is written.
I imagine this midnight moment’s forest:
Something else is alive
Beside the clock’s loneliness
And this blank page where my fingers move.
Through the window I see no star:
Something more near
Though deeper within darkness
Is entering the loneliness:
Cold, delicately as the dark snow
A fox’s nose touches twig, leaf;
Two eyes serve a movement, that now
And again now, and now, and now
Sets neat prints into the snow
Between trees, and warily a lame
Shadow lags by stump and in hollow
Of a body that is bold to come
Across clearings, an eye,
A widening deepening greenness,
Coming about its own business
Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox
It enters the dark hole of the head.
The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
The page is printed.
Hughes, T. (1957). The hawk in the rain. London, United Kingdom: Faber & Faber Ltd.