Night is done, gone the moon, gone the stars From the skies. Fades the black of night Comes the morn with rosy light. Fold your wings, go to sleep, Rest your gizzards, Safe you'll be for the day. Glaux is nigh. Far away is first black, But it shall seep back Over field Over flower In the twilight hour. We are home in our tree. We are owls, we are free. As we go, this we know Glaux is nigh.

To find one's special quality One must lead a life of deep humility. To serve in this way Never question but obey Is the blessing of St Aggie's charity. - The owls of St. Aegolius

Otulissa swelled up to twice her normal size. 'Well, SPRINK ON YOUR SPRONK!

Words, as you well know, can be powerful. - Digger

Cycling, cycling forever bear, wolf, caribou. When had it all started, where will it end? We are all part of one, from such simple beginnings and yet all so different. Yet one. One and again.

A spark can become a flame, a flame a fire.

Our lives are just spectacles. We are like dolls, in a sense, to be observed and played with - often with cruel and deceitful intentions - in an unreal world.