Gravel, Wildflowers & Visitors
Pat and I were south of Homer, Michigan in Amish country. We found the kind of gravel roads we seek and it turned out to be a day of wildflowers (and a few other things). I could not get a poem out of my head as we enjoyed a very beautiful morning. The poet is Gerard Manley Hopkins. Maybe the images will speak to you in your own reflection on the beauty of the world around us.
The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.