All tasks have a soundtrack. I am continuing to stitch Hazel's spots and there is verse running on a repeated loop in my head.
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 all trades, 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:
Praise him.
I am not sure if poems find the situation or if they shape it. Regardless, 'Pied Beauty', from the lovely mind of Gerard Manley Hopkins, is keeping me company.
I know the 'trout' reference is triggering the recollection. Still, I should think on this poem more often. Dappled things are beautiful and those that are strange enough, get collected or admiringly built into a new composition.
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