Yesterday's tragedy at Virginia Tech - perhaps appropriately - inspires muteness. I read the news, voraciously, but attempts at knowing and understanding do not replace shock. My heart aches for all, beginning with victims and families and ending with perpetrator and his family.
Rage is a part of what is wrong in creation. Does it just seem so -- or is it indeed more pervasive in our world, both human and animal? Is our abused planet contributing to the corruption of psyches and senses? I wonder...
I groan...
Now, I'm reminded that Gerard Manley Hopkins poem,
God's Grandeur quoted in a
previous post , includes language of creation laboring...
trod... seared... bleared... smeared... toil... bare... before it gets to the the assuring disclaimer
And for all this, nature is never spent; There lives the dearest freshness deep down things...
Despite yesterday's mayhem, the Holy Ghost certainly 'broods over the bent world' today in the personage of our mommy hummingbird, whose nest is visibly stuffed with feathers and two discernable heads with beaks. Just above this hallowed nativity scene has appeared the usual annual assortment of dead bugs...adhered to the ceiling by a wisely tempting mom...who, perhaps not completely oblivious to the pain in the world, has chosen for her design not a simple circle...but a
halo...to entice the babes to look up.
A note on my computer states 'Practice Resurrection'. I think she just has.
2 comments:
"Nature is never spent" is truly something to remember.
It truly gives hope.
Oh, the Emily Dickinson poem: Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul...
Our hummingbabies are buzzing their wings. Soon they'll be gone.
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