Is She?

If there is a god, she fills the skies with a million birds that circle in vast flocks that settle down in marshes and treetops and then lift off again, circling and calling across burnt amber skies at the end of the day.  If there is a god, she sends butterflies migrating across mountain ranges or caribou across a thousand miles of permafrost and tundra or puts tiny lanterns on transparent fish with blind eyes in the compressed darkness of a cold ocean.  If there is a god, she coats summer grasses with dew drops that look like diamonds when her sun shoots its rays across a morning dawn.  If there is a god, molten lava looks like water fountains and mica flecks in dark ponds look like the stars scattered in a nebula.  

If there is a god, she's in the details, the wide scope of everything, the in between and the unwinding clock spring of all time.