God is

A blooming tree I shot in early April

“Why can’t we see God?” the child asks, squinting.

“Can’t?” Mama shouts. She laughs.

She points at the pink petals bursting from the branch. “See, God.”

She points at the sparrow sprinting across the bluest sky. “See, God.”

She points at the young child, finger reaching for her precious heart. “See, God.”