Hello to poets and poet lovers out there.

This weekend, on a Thanksgiving trip to my brother's outside of Trenton, New Jersey, my husband and I walked along a road and suddenly: a peregrine falcon perched in a large tree. The two of us had just been through a difficult discussion which, blessedly, opened out at the end into a new and airy perspective on a difficult issue that I have struggled with my whole life.

And then the falcon: she flew a little, then lighted on a new branch of little ahead of us, let us catch up, flew again, lighted again. She drew us on, she was a revelation. Why did she come to us at that moment?

Poetry seems to me to offer revelations - every day is full of them. They can be very small, usually are, humble, unostentatious: a coin glinting in the sun on the sidewalk, the musical laugh of a man on the street, the depth of my cats eye. Poetry is a living thing.

What revelations have people spied in recent days?

These darkening days seem to have their own charge and magnetism. I welcome the darkness and it's turning, at the beginning of this holiday time.