All Creatures Great and Small

Pied Beauty

Glory be to God for dappled things-
For skies of couple-color as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that
swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced- fold, fallow, and
plough;
And all their 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.

-Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889)


The mantle of ghostly mist is lifting from the side meadows, after hunkering down for the evening on the marsh. A snapping turtle laid her eggs in the sand down there, in the evening cool. We stopped to watch her carve a hollow in the sand last night, her placid and ancient eyes drooping with her task. Fox, heron, weasel, fish, and deer all went about their business in the nightshade, while electric fans droned us to sleep in our brick house.

The drowsy nights of summer are upon us. I am a big fan of a good night's sleep, but I anticipate lying awake in the wee hours, if only to hear the maples heaving and sighing under the moon. I jostle my Hubby (unintentionally) as I stand to gaze heavenward through the skylights, hoping to take in the Aurora Borealis. Heaven help my household if I do, because even at 2 a.m., everyone must partake the sights.

My enthusiasm for all things bright and beautiful doesn't wane with the moon; rather, it seems to wax with my age. So today, as I read this favorite poem, I wonder how I could possibly love it more, ten years hence.