But gaps have a way of getting filled, even as new gaps appear. I'm more inclined to encounter the unnamable Mystery in the continuing miracle of the commonplace -- the sweet slurring song of the meadowlark, a spider web bejeweled with morning dew, the ceaseless dance of DNA in every cell of my body, a summer night canopied with stars.
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 & 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 & with ah! bright wings.
And speaking of poetry, here is an unshod poet, Charles Goodrich, who should be better known by all who attend with reverence to the natural world.