The Windhover

By Gerard Manley Hopkins

To Christ our Lord  

I caught this morning morning's minion, king-
dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, – the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.

Oh dear, I do love that poem, it always succeeds in making me slightly teary.

However, the blip.  It was taken on the Morn Hill butterfly reserve this afternoon.  This female kestrel (windhover) was high up the hill, but I was higher and looking down on her.  It goes without saying therefore, that the background is a vast stubble field at the bottom of the hill. One day it would be lovely to get her facing the other way, towards me, but she always hunts like this and I rather valued not having a glary sky behind her.

Oh, and I saw the oddball young heron of yesterday on my way home.  S/he was standing on the roof of a derelict building backing onto the bus station.  Loony bird!

Have a good Monday evening and Tuesday morning  xx