Facebook reminded me this morning of a memory from 2020, this rusted sentinel on the north beach at Aberaeron, Cymru. It’s especially poignant because she’s gone now, taken by the recent storms. I returned home to her absence and each time I walk past there’s a fleeting moment of loss.
I’m thinking about the way we imbue things with presence, spirit – or does the presence find us? Dryads in the woods, saints and goddesses in the holy wells, the silent watcher of the waves.
I’m reminded of lines from Gerard Manley Hopkins
The world is charged with the grandeur of God.God’s Grandeur, G.M Hopkins
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil
There lives the dearest freshness deep down thingsGod’s Grandeur, G.M. Hopkins
… for Christ plays in ten thousand places,As Kingfishers Catch Fire
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
Wild air, world-mothering airThe Blessed Virgin Compared to the Air we Breathe, G.M. Hopkins
Nestling me everywhere