poem from the road

Creation's Waltz
the clouds
changing their minds
which color
they want to be
every other minute
the sun slowly
climbing over the
backs of the mountains
the fallen leaves
wind waltzing
over the road
some
synchronized
in their dance
others all
dancing to their
own tune
the morning mist
retreating into
the forrest
to hide
till
another day
by b.e. noll

for those of you from growth group, this is what I was sitting on the floor before group writing last night. It came to me in pieces as I drove to Delaware yesterday. I prayed I'd remember when I could write.