the chill of morning creeps among the trees
the waking of the world without a sound
the rush of droplets rallied by the breeze
the cooling of the colors all around
the hammer of a woodpecker nearby
the chase of mist along the waters' face
the whited canvas scrolled across the sky
the myriad hues of green in every place
the tempered glint of sunlight, soft and sweet
the damp of silver dew upon the grass
the give of gladdened earth beneath my feet
the lake with mirror sheen like milky glass
in frail and faint and fleeting things I see,
my God unveils His faithfulness to me
a matin sonnet
sounding out the wonders
of a rainy morning on the shore
of Moss Lake, WI
titled from "This Is My Father's World"