beautifully belittling

The day is gracefully falling asleep to the humming of travelers as the night blinks an eye and slowly wakes; the city flickers. Both yawn as one comes and one goes. It's pale. Pale in color and pale with contrast. There is little contrast but such texture. You can see every detail in the subtly fading light. The colors are soft blue with hints of gray, coinciding deep into a ripening peach hue. It's soft, but strong. In the depths of beautiful words and beautiful scenes, I find myself sinking. A Severe Mercy. Strong and soft. Merciful God, who am I? Who am I to know You? In the words, I read, "Heaven itself, he thought, would be -- must be -- a coming home." The light wind has stripped my breath from me as I lay in wake of God's beauty, creation and mercy, only to be consumed by the idea of heaven being exceptionally and unfathomably more extravagant than this moment. What comfort that brings. A comfort like coming home.