I love to think of nature
as an unlimited broadcasting station
through which God speaks to us every hour
if we will only
George Washington Carver
By Elece Hollis
Every flower a trumpet,
Each blade of grass a quivering string;
Everywhere we turn we hear the earth
Raise instruments a song to bring.
There's music in the meadow,
There's rhythm beating in the trees;
Over all the wind elects to play
A melody upon the breeze.