From “Songbirds” by White In the barnyard, among the wisps of dry straw which make a pattern on the brown earth, the sheep lie motionless and as yet unshorn, their great ruffs giving them a regal appearance, their placidity seemingly induced by the steady crying of the frogs.

From “Songbirds” by White And in the east beyond the lilac and beyond the barn and beyond the bay and behind the deepening hills, in slow and splendid surprise, rises the bomber’s moon.

From “Morningtime and Evening Time” by E. B. White Stonily I sit at the machine, refusing, as a jumping horse refuses the hurdle. All that comes forth I drop without regret into the wastebasket; nothing seems to make sense, no matter how you spell it or arrange the words.

“Morningtime and Eveningtime” Continued You write something that sounds informative, throwing the words around in the usual manner, then you put your head out the door, or somebody puts his head in, a knob is turned, somebody says something to you, or your eye is caught by something in the news, a dog barks, and no longer is what you said informative, or even sensible.

“Morningtime and Eveningtime” Continued At the mere barking of a dog the thing explodes in your hands, and you look down at your hands. As though you had crushed a light bulb and your hands were bleeding slightly. And after lunch the thunder in the north.

From Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard The bell rang twice; I had to go. The moth was receding down the driveway, dragging on. I went; I ran inside. The Polyphemous moth is still crawling down the driveway, crawling down the driveway hunched, crawling down the driveway on six furred feet, forever.

From Holy the Firm by Annie Dillard A golden female moth, a biggish one with a two-inch wingspan, flapped into the fire, dropped her abdomen into the wet wax, stuck, flamed, frazzled and fried in a second.

Holy The Firm Continued Her moving wings ignited like tissue paper, enlarging the circle of light in the clearing and creating out of the darkness the sudden blue sleeves of my sweater, the green leaves of jewelweed by my side, the ragged red trunk of a pine. At once the light contracted again and the moth’s wings vanished in a fine, foul smoke.

Holy The Firm Continued At the same time her six legs clawed, curled, blackened and ceased, disappearing utterly. And her head jerked in spasms, making a spattering noise; her antennae crisped and burned away and her heaving mouth parts crackled like pistol fire.