Pogue,

I have continued my walking in the countryside because, well, it feels good. Even on the day the wind blows and the rain falls over the hills it remains good. It is uncomplicated and easy to become immersed in. So much a world apart from the way life normally plays out. It’s not demanding but rather ready to share itself, as if I’ve always belonged, like part of a jigsaw, lost but now found.

Today, whilst walking, I glanced above a wood of ancient trees and happen to see a large bird, a hawk of kinds, soaring effortlessly on a thermal rising from the valley below. Moving in a harmony that was tinged with perfection, made for this moment, and soaring with no awareness of the impressiveness of its flight. Just doing what it was born to do and at one with the natural world. Potential lived out.

Having shared a favourite poem on Monday Musings I was reminded of another poem, The Windhover by Gerard Manley Hopkins where the writer so cleverly captures the movement of the hawk, as it soars, by the use of his words and the structure of the verses.

The Windhover

(to Christ our Lord)

I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-
   dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
   Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
   As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
   Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, – the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
   Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
   Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.

Gerard Manley Hopkins

I hope you enjoy this.

Off to spy some more wonders,

Wic

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