We're on a hike in the mountains, and right there in a little mountain stream, I see them. If you look closely, you can see them in the water.
Like Hopkins, I proclaim, "Glory be to God for dappled things!" Yes, a Clever Artist stippled these fish to blend right into the stream bed. Their strange beauty--dappled and counter--is perfect for how they were meant to live best. Enjoy the poem below and delight in your own dappled, strange, fickle self:
GLORY be to God for dappled things— | |
For skies of couple-colour 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; | 5 |
And áll trádes, 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: | 10 |
Praise him. |
1 comment:
Hey Heather, are you in Colorado again? This looks familiar! I'm in Golden
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