winter hours

i'm finishing up mary oliver's "winter hours", a book of prose, prose poetry, and poetry. it's lovely. and i had to put this excerpt in here:

"morning, for me, is the time of best work. my conscious thought sings like a bird in a cage, but the rest of me is singing too, like a bird in the wind. perhaps something is still strong in us in the morning, the part that is untamable, that dreams willfully and crazily, that knows reason is no more than an island within us."

p. 98.