As an interval during George Herbert week here are a couple of photos taken at opportune moments. The first is of a young Sparrow Hawk which collided at speed with our glass patio doors.

It came round from unconsciousness, got to its feet, swayed drunkenly for a minute, looked me straight in the eye and said, "Where the H*** did that come from?"

And after this stunned adolescent learner flier recovered, and tidied up its language, it had a look at itself in the glass and thought, " Lookin' good – but won't do that again!"

Then early this morning I looked out the same patio windows and saw the biggest crane fly in the world flying over our house. (better known as daddy long legs)

By Ted Kooser from Flying at Night Poems, 1965-85, Pittsburgh Press.  

This daddy long legs wasn't walking on a basement floor – it was attached to the patio doors spreadeagled as if pinned by an entomologist. Such fragile transience.