Tuesday 6 March 2012

Creation



The narrow streets with cracks and patches of neglect tunnel between the grey dull dwellings, cold craftsmanship curtained and quiet, peering into another morning.

Then the autumn breeze breathes life as the Creator breathed on Adam’s clay. It comes with sun-gold riding on its back, brushing brick with painter’s care.

The poor works of mortal men are taken up into God’s tapestry, woven into a web. Bone’s of brick that leap to life, and then blaze bright on a blue canvass.

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