Craving the wonder of His most delicate creation,
The magnitude of its power wrapped in a searching fog,
All things point to the Creator and His tangible song.
His Voice is loud as water sings and birds chatter,
What glory can we see within the lines of earth and sky?
The finite separation between created and Creator,
Shall we nod to the oddity of chance?
Can we give credit to the imbalance of circumstance?
It’s within the green and misty trees,
We stand in wonder of His frieze . . .
and loving hand.
PHOTO: Anna Brooks