Though I must not worship what is made and only thank the Maker for these brushstrokes of color and wispy-wonders,
I recognize in these ephemeral things the One whose mind and wit and wisdom places within all life-breathings a revelation of Himself.
If it is not that,
then what am I feeling as my heart swells with the drunken-heavy fragrance of flower and scented wind?
Is it just mental–neurons firing with environmental conditioning?
That would be worldly madness because science alone–its facts and fictions–would not push me in this direction of reckless praise.