THE MASTER’S TOUCH

 copyright 1987 Bonita M Quesinberry, R.C.

I look out into the early morning light
at frost artfully etched upon glass
and beyond to smooth green lawns
shrouded in emerald fir and madroña.

Ah, but then mine eye is captured
by pink rimmed shores
and glistening fuchsia tipped mountain peaks
regally looked upon by
snowcapped majesty of Mount Rainier
as it rises gloriously to greet
a pale morning sky
powdered blue, pink fingers
caressing puffy clouds.

Indeed, this is God’s country,
for I see touches
of the Master’s brush all about me,
color man cannot blend
nor sculptors carve.
The scent of spring in crisp salt air
and at once my senses are alive,
sensitive to this awesome beauty.