When the Sun Goes Down

Harry Higbee, a noted ornithologist, was the very first superintendent hired at Moose Hill. He was charged with maintaining the property and teaching visitors about planting to attract birds.

Periodically, Harry Higbee wrote about what was happening at the sanctuary, sharing his own observations and thoughts…and his own poetry.

I came across this great photo by one of our staff, Matt Apone, who captured a sunset (a true bonus to being staff at Moose Hill is the ability to roam the grounds once we have closed – our trails are only open dawn to dusk) and it reminded me of a poem that Mr. Higbee wrote in 1938.sunset at the bluffs

When the Sun Goes Down

I love the fire that burns in the west

At the hour of day’s decline;

When the sweet refrain of the Hermit Thrush

Comes clear on the evening’s golden lush

From the dark and shadowy pine.

‘Tis the end of a day when the sun goes down –

Though it gives me a bit of pain,

At the thought of so much I have left undone

And so few the battles I’ve nobly won,

In these hours of loss and gain.

Yet there comes a feeling of sweet repose

As I look toward the glowing west;

And a promise of better days to come

Seem born in the rays of the setting sun

As it silently sinks to rest. –H.G.H.

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