He’s not alone”blue herons like to feed
here, egrets, mallards, ducks of lesser fame;
but his is an especially fine breed”
bold head with yellow crown, a stately name.
He stalks by night”and, happily for us,
at twilight too, along the bayou’s verge,
immobile nearly, fishing without fuss,
obedient to nature’s constant urge.
We call him “Our Bird,” though he’s wild and free,
indifferent to our admiring gaze,
his being wholly bound in what we see,
beyond the pale of reprimand or praise.
What BAP Gets Wrong, and Right, About Fertility
Anyone paying attention to low and declining fertility today knows that it is a problem. Fewer children…
Witch Hunt
In the musical Wicked, the familiar story of The Wizard of Oz is retold from the perspective…
The Parental Rights Paradox
Two weeks ago, the U.S. Supreme Court intervened in Mirabelli v. Bonta, restoring a lower-court injunction that…