I go across the Arkansas river. A quarter to half mile (or more) wide, depending on which bridge I drive.
Twice a day there are stunning, changing beauties. Glassy and serene seeming in the morning. Later, with huge whirlpools and sometimes whitecaps in the afternoon.
My thoughts, my perceptions of whatever comes before me, I say Grace over.
And praises, there are many, many praises. Not enough, not ever enough.
But they are from my heart of my heart, across my lips, to God’s Ears.