I'll take a picture from my window...
From the high heaven's soaring clouds,
Dripping wet with fresh Seattle rain;
To fresh potato feilds blooming radiant,
Red, white, mixed among green, spread
out among mountain range.
The voice of God speaking through the
Treacherous and beautiful mountain pass,
my own trembling voice to mix among the
Chorus of creation around me, we're not the
First to see how small we are, we won't be the last.
Your hand spread out accross a field of gold
Your voice a whisper accross the corn stalks.
Glorious sun rising high above our heads,
Sunsets reflecting Your gloy, conversation;
long and real, like taking a much needed walk.
Back among the clouds, waking from a dream,
Flying through memory, through familiarity,
Adventures, like stories; sadly have an end,
But You, O God, You have no beginning no end,
As you carry us into eternity.