Abba...
I stole a glance from the hill today which
overlooks the miniature courtyard where the children are always playing-
little girls in flower dresses and bare feet, running from
boys with swords of twigs and pirate words. I let my eyes fall over
and over
the wooden rooftops of the houses built upon the once lush producing fields-
verdant rounded stilts.
Whatever happened to the appreciation of green I will never know.
Behind their clan rests a bed of tree peaks and the mountain,
like their ruler, towering above in royal dominance.
This figure I look on daily- this striking purple mass of brilliance,
certainly an image of Your splendor.
Abba...
You are written all over creation,
but the world can only read words.