It is not a perfect world...

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One of the golden curled babies.

Neither are we
as we dwell within it.

Though...
There are moments,


Tiny, delightful moments
when breezes flow through
the transomed windows.

Sun beams,
glistens off a baby's golden heads.
as unseen breezes ruffle their hair.

Slow smiles slip
into view
as recognition dawns,
while the wind  kisses
skin without leaving a mark.

Small heads bob
over the ends of pews,
while I watch,
the race,
of these little ones,
run with glee,
to get to the seat up front.

These moments of sunshine,
are shared by God,
through colored glass,
with all of us.