WHO MAKES MUCH of a MIRACLE......

 MIRACLES by WALT WHITMAN   (1819-1892) written in 1856  as "Poem of Perfect Miracles". Appeared again, revised, in 1881

 Why, who makes much of a miracle? As to me I know of nothing else but miracles.

 Wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,

 Or stand under trees in the woods, or talk with any one I love....

Rona from the hill

 Or sit at table at dinner with the rest

 Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car

 Or watch honey bees buy around the hive of a summer forenoon

 Or animals feeding in the field

Discovery Passage

 Or bids, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,

Mt. Washington range

 Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright

Simon from the hill

 Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring

 These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles

 To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle

 Every cubic inch of space is a miracle

 Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,

 Every foot of the interior swarms with the same

 To me the sea is a continual miracle,

Vancouver Island range

 The fishes that swim, the rocks the motion of the waves the ships with men in them.

 What stranger miracles are there?

Mr. Spencer from the hill

Photographs 2020