I saw on the clouds, a kiss of my Father. His reflection on creation. It was pink this time – just on the edges of dark grey clouds in the morning. Dozens of black birds in their V-shaped formations soared passed with the sound of wind, not even pausing at the magnificent sight.

I took a picture because I didn’t feel like any amount of my words could give his beauty justice. Yet, the picture can’t tell the sounds of the morning. It can’t tell of the cool breeze that carried his kisses, or the notion that the sight was but a few short moments. But I can. My words can.

Oh, the way your kisses inspire me!


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