Somewhere in the universe, in the gallery of important things, the babyish owl, ruffled and rakish, sits on its pedestal. Dear, dark dapple of plush! A message, reads the label, from that mysterious conglomerate: Oblivion and Co. The hooked head stares from its house of dark, feathery lace. It could be a valentine.
— from “Little Owl Who Lives in the Orchard” by Mary Oliver
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