In Thirteen Ways Of Looking At a Blackbird, Wallace Stegner writes,
I do not know which to prefer…
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
I’ve never sorted out what I think this poem is about, I just like it. (“It was evening all afternoon. It was snowing and it was going to snow.” My favorite lines.)
Sitting under the stars beside a campfire, listening to the plaintive swell and moan of a harmonica. The sound of a laugh, carried like milkweed fluff on the air. The moment I realize something true.
Or just after.
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*I’ve edited the stanza – you can read the entire poem here
