This glorious morning we decided to walk at a conservation area north of town and we were early enough that there were no other people in the woods or along the Moira River. At one point we sat immediately alongside a rapids with its exhilirating Spring voice. Ruth said, "is that a kingfisher?" just as I heard its distinctive chatter. She drew my attention to a branch over the water and there is was, the first we've seen in 2024. It is disturblingly early for this creature's return but when it flew it was exhilarating, climate emergency be damned.
I thought of a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins, the quirky Jesuit poet of the 19th century. He never fit in anywhere and he died of typhoid fever at 44. When he converted to Catholicism he burned all his poems as a mistaken act of devotion. Even though he took up writing again in his latter years his work wasn't published until after his death, when his brilliance was recognized.
The poem came to mind because of the opening phrase --the kingfisher we saw was brilliant in flight against the drab colours of this early season. It was also because Hopkins was aware of the grace of God the Creator all around us, and the extra-ordinary affirmation that "Christ plays in ten thousand places."
As Kingfishers Catch Fire by Gerard Manley Hopkins
As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves — goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I dó is me: for that I came.
I say móre: the just man justices;
Keeps grace: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is —
Chríst — for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men's faces.
Gerard Manley Hopkins; drawing by David Levine
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