Friday, December 4, 2009
I shot this construction site under cloudy foggy moonlit skies on the drive in this morning. I was sitting in my car waiting at a stoplight at the end of the highway off ramp and this scene of torn earth under gray skies reminded me of a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins called God's Grandeur:
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:
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!
I wish for a day filled with "the dearest freshness deep down things" and am thankful for a morning where "the Holy Ghost over the bent world broods with warm breast and ah! bright wings."