clouds plowed to furrows,
matching the ripple of freshening breeze
on lake surface.
I could rake my fingers through their moisture,
stirring designs circling round
the space left by my hand.
is that the pattern of the clouds?
Trails of God’s fingers
stirring the air after painting
the lavender and apricot sky?
Touches of glory condensed
to a view we can handle
No vision of Him,
Just a remnant of creation
clothed in majesty.