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.
Dear Reader,
Can I be direct with you?
War abroad. Socialists on the rise. AI upending human life. Endless uproar online. The modern attention economy doesn’t want readers — it wants users enslaved to the tyranny of the present.
First Things is the antidote: literary excellence, timeless truths, and a fixed point of reference in a culture that has lost its bearings.
But we can’t do it without readers like you.
Our goal: Raise $150,000 by November 1 to sustain First Things in the year ahead.
Your gift anchors readers in the permanent things.
Make your Fall Campaign gift now using the button below.
If you have any questions or would like more information, please contact Giovanni Del Piero, Director of the Editor’s Circle, at gdelpiero@firstthings.com or 212-627-1985.
The Zone of Commitment
Neal climbs up to join me at the belay. Moving quickly, he kicks the front points of…
A Culture of Parricide
I learned a new word the other day: déploration. It’s the French, directly from the Latin, for “lament.”…
Job and Her
It is said that Job lost everything, but she has lost more. All her possessions—the money, the…