It’s all art, this creativity.

We write soul-poetry looking

over still water as loons cry

our verse written 

upon early morning mist parchment.

Touching smooth river stones 

we sculpt, 

arranging little rock piles 

in river shallows

balancing their rockiness wet

with dark water ink.

Holding brittle leaves of autumn color

kicked from piles,

we paint on a grass-canvas

our feet as brushes.

None of this is non-art. 

Each work an expression found outside

frames and canvas,

potter’s wheel, 

the poet’s pad.

God, the artist Father

created us to become

expressers of His Creator touch. 

Creating, always creating.