God blowing in the branches

Branches lit by street lamps whirling in a cold winter wind. No other soul around. Just me. And I thought about how God must be there too. In the branches and hedgerows, in the pastures and peaks. God is there for the smallest of things and the wildest of things. God is not a version of us.  We were not made in His image. We were made as a small part of his vision,