When I was young I wrote a lot of little poems, mostly about the beauty and necessity of Wonder; which was a genuine feeling with me, as it is still. The power of seeing plain things and landscapes in a kind of sunlight of surprise; the power of jumping at the sight of a bird as if at a winged bullet; the power of being brought to a standstill by a tree as by the gesture of a gigantic hand; in short, the power of poetically running one’s head against a post is one which varies in different people and which I can say without conceit is a part of my own human nature. It is not a power that indicates any artistic strength, still less any spiritual exaltation; men who are religious in a sense too sublime for me to conceive are equally without it. Of the pebble in the pathways of the twig on the edge, it may truly be said that many prophets and righteous men have desired to see these things and have not seen them. It is a small and special gift, but an innocent one.
I finally found this description GKC outlines in Wonder and the Wooden Post
I have tried to explain this sense of wonder I have to my wife and others, and many simply do not resonate with the idea. I think it might mean more than GKC attributes to it… as in my mind it would be a very positive vision to share with humanity, an edifying one, whether by pen, instrument or brush. Almost as if God says “Do you see this sun bathed wonder of green grass? Do you sense this inspiration and passion of a simple flower or stream? This tree as a sentry? Share it, give it to others!” Then again, maybe it is simply a gift to be enjoyed without any further assignments.