The glory of God moves upon the plains:
in the way of the wind against long stems of grass
bowing and swaying along the banks and berms,
in the turning of the leaves as autumn seeps
into the deep drenching dew of cool mornings,
in the formings of delicate mist following the seams
of small rivers and smaller creeks.
The glory of God moves upon the heart:
whispers of gentle gladness for the goodness of each day,
deep groanings for grace and strength
in the soul-racking length of trials and testings,
the shared lifting of loving hands
that softly soothe the faces of aching souls
and tears that flow with no reckoning
of what is owed or given.
The glory of God moves upon the mind:
the searching for knowledge in countless ways,
the amazing complexity of the brain,
the searching out of the roots of rain in clouds
carried over distant mountains,
the fountain of thoughts, ideas, concepts,
the forming of language and the nuances of diction,
the foundings of fiction that speak truth.
The glory of God moves upon us,