We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
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 and 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 and with ah! bright wings.
Glory be to God for dappled things-
For skies of couple-color as a brindled cow
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim,
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls, and finches' wings,
Landscape plotted and pieced, fold, fallow, and plough,
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange-
Whatever is fickle, freckled, who knows how-
He fathers forth Whose beauty is past change.
"Pied Glory", Hopkins, from memory. He was amazing.