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  • One simple desire of mine is to grow into this kind of listener. I would like to practice "inviting the quiet by turning the face."


    by William Stafford (1914-1993)

    My father could hear a little animal step,
    or a moth in the dark against the screen,
    and every far sound called the listening out
    into places where the rest of us had never been.

    More spoke to him from the soft wild night
    than came to our porch for us on the wind;
    we would watch him look up and his face go keen
    till the walls of the world flared, widened.

    My father heard so much that we still stand
    inviting the quiet by turning the face,
    waiting for a time when something in the night
    will touch us too from that other place.

    Photo: Cathedral Ruins, Ireland, Summer, 2008
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