A thin layer of fog floats misty over the river as the rising sun paints peach across the south.
I steer the car across the narrow bridge and continue toward the highway and my appointment in the city an hour from home - a weekly routine for over a month.
I must hurry. Once dawn gives way, there's no holding back the fiery orb's rise over the pasture just around the bend.
As I stop the car on the side of the road, my soul swells hallelujahs, and I remove my camera's lens cap - hoping to capture a glimpse of glory in the foggy horizon's blaze.
and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.
Day to day pours out speech,
and night to night reveals knowledge.
There is no speech, nor are there words,
whose voice is not heard.
Their voice goes out through all the earth,
and their words to the end of the world.
In them he has set a tent for the sun,
which comes out like a bridegroom leaving his chamber,
and, like a strong man, runs its course with joy.
Its rising is from the end of the heavens,
and its circuit to the end of them,
and there is nothing hidden from its heat.
Psalm 19:1-6 ESV
Nothing can hold back the sun or my praise - to run the course with joy.
but on trees and flowers and clouds and stars.
Martin Luther
