The last remaining fragment of a quote rebounding in my head, a quote from the novel I had just finished by the name of Middlesex, something having to do with dappled, so I proceed to google 'dappled quote' and out jumps this poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins:
| GLORY be to God for dappled things— | |
| For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow; | |
| For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; | |
| Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings; | |
| Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough; | 5 |
| And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim. | |
| |
| All things counter, original, spare, strange; | |
| Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) | |
| With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; | |
| He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: | 10 |
| Praise him. |
Which of course makes me google something else that caught my eye: rose-moles. Which I then google and come up with yet another link in the never ending Google chain:
Sprung Rythm. When is Googling enough? Google fuck, Google trick, Google backseat lover, google exhaustion and city madness. I will Google the fuck out of you. I Googled him. Even Google hates him. Googled to death.
