In the event that some of you arent plugged into The Writers Almanac, Im posting todays poem, a lovely poem by Hopkins, who has, like no other, a way with words. Its how I feel this sunlit morning, the great rush in my chest as I open my window to the world and hear the birds and frogs, dogs barking in the distance, the rumble of a truck through town, the neighbors screen door slam shut a bit too early, the smell of coffee in the house, and more birds. Its the middle of summer, and I swear I smell autumn out there, but lets not rush it. May your day be a good day, whatever that means to you, and may you find yourself pausing, at some point, to look up and, for a moment, to really see the sky above you. Pied Beauty Glory be to God for dappled things— For skies of cople-colour as a brindled cow; For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches wings; Landsape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough; And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim. All things counter, original, spare, strange; Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him. Pied Beauty by Gerard Manley Hopkins.
Posted on: Thu, 10 Jul 2014 11:47:19 +0000