She stopped.

She stopped. She looked.

She saw the blueness of the sky,

Transition into the violet of the car,

Defined by the blackness of the wheels,

Camouflaging with the grayness of the road:

The road that led to beneath her feet,

The paleness of whom,

was absorbed into the dullness of their stone.

She belongs to that road,

Those wheels,

That car,

That sky-

The sky.

She was of, what she saw.

She was of, what He made.

What she made. By being.

All she really had to do was exist.

And just stop.

And look.

Image courtesy:

http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2011/11/national_geographic_photo_cont.html