Taking out the garbage, I was surprised by a giant moth. It is a hawk moth; they frequent the moonflowers on late summer nights. The moonflowers are full of ripening seedpods, now.Their season is almost done.
In the clarity of this autumnal light, the world is full of spotted things--mottled bananas and pears. Light and shadow under the canopy of trees. The ivy showing the first tinge of red in the leaves.
In this moment, filled with ripening, change and imperfection, here is a poem about these things---
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;
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:
Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–89). Poems. 1918. 13.
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