There were swallows singing and fresh green undergrowth and a blue sky in the canyon yesterday, and it was just like Hopkin’s poem “Spring” (minus the Christian overtones):
…and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness;
