Like shining from shook foil

This morning, while I was on Bus 24 en route to work, I happened to glance up from my book and what through the plexiglass did I spy but...snow! Not falling snow, or even in Denver, but far to the west, on the crest of the Rockies. I blinked a few times, thinking it was just the normal morning cloud cover, but no, the sharp profile of the mountains were there, and each was capped by snow, sparkling in the rising sun. How glorious! Snow! In October!

In honor of unexpected beauty that sneaks in, even to a Monday morning, I include here a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins:

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.