It
roars, rages and blows
It bubbles and flows and
Tickles a baby's dewy fingers
The ocean's a symphony and the
Creek is a quartet
I've listened in sleep to its moving music
Slick and sharp
Clear and cold as winter's mirror
Reflecting
the colors of trees and sky
Crackling on the edges of small brooks
Muffled thunder on a broken, moonlit pond
I've touched visual heaven in a crystal forest
Wind whipped, brutal and playful
White, red, blue and grey
Colors mark days and storms passing
A child's daydream sees faces and laughter
A farmer's eye sees bellies of rain
I see God's perfect brushstrokes and steady hand
