Like Shining From Shook Foil

We've had a lot of rain here in Los Angeles the last month or so, and everything is greener than it's been in over five years. The sun glints off of green. I almost fell down into this patch of grass when I was out walking our dog this afternoon. I imagined myself face down and buried, lush. Lush. That's one of my favorite words. There's something sexy about it, about lushness. Something that gives me a frisson.

Love never dies. It just goes underground, a boy I loved a long time ago told me.



Grass. Green. Lush. Frisson




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: 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.

Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889)