Saturday, August 19, 2006

Exceeding Splendor

19 August 2006, 12:16 PM

Harrodsburg Road is a long, dim drive
most mornings. Monotony sets in
long before I think to pay attention to the trees,
the horses, or even the expanse above them- dark
or bright, gay or filled with tears- a favorite subject,
and ubiquitous on days when misty-morning haze
knits landscape to muddy-gray of not quite cloudy,
not quite cloudless sky.

On one such day, the sun appeared-
amidst a sullied plain of muddled colorlessness
which I mistook as overcast- a neon disk of fire
dulled by the morning haze, impressive,
though not quite lovely; undeniable, though not
quite convicting, not quite high enough in its ascent
to beautify the heavy fog upon rolling hills;
valleys of blue-green.

The higher she rose, all the more golden seemed
the land before, behind, above; the more inspired
seemed the wisps of cloud, descended that morning,
as if they meant to kiss the Earth before ascending;
vanishing again.

As earth and wind and sky waxed in loveliness,
less and less could eye behold the beauty of the sun,
so brightly did she shine. Only for the radiance
released; bestowed upon the land did she shine out
all the more magnificent; find her glory in drawing eyes
toward something other than self, and so exceeded
all else in splendor.

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George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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