Deep unfathomable depth of blue; the sky comes down to touch the very ground, waving with wheat sown and tended to grow, to fill the emptiness in our lives. Brown and golden, all shining like little beacons of light, glittering as they wave: Back and forth, together as one, an ocean of light.
And the wind blows, warm, scattering the dust, born from the heat. It travels through the cracks in the old barn, coating the floor with a light sand in which to make our footprints. The shadows within are cool: a musty alternative to the fresh air outside its walls. But sheltering.
The clouds skim the sky, leaving their pictures behind, while the blue of it deepens the hope in our hearts.
And the sun warms the land with its bright white light, reflecting the colors of the trees, and their releasing. Releasing of glory. Life, surrendered to time. Showering down upon us, as offering.
And the mountains in the distance stand as witness to their Creator. Silent witnesses. Still witnesses. Mountains of strength: constant.
And the line on the horizon looks as if it would break, as it holds our grief, beneath the sky. So defined. And we can't help but wonder if one day, it will shatter with fear for us, who live above its trembling ground.
And the dark brown soil is rich with moisture and newly turned. It faces gladly the sun, come to thaw away the blanket of frost that had come to rest there over night. Now it is coming back to life.
And these hands, they work and toil. For to gather their daily bread. And as we reap our little harvest, we turn our faces heavenward, and breathe a prayer of rest. For all the beauty beneath these skies, through Him now, we are blessed.