To see does not make the image,

But reflects, quickly our impressions of it,

The texture, meaning, context and message are all determined in microseconds,

As we ready our comment for our Twitter feeds.

Thereby claiming our cleverness and inability to reflect or discern its real intention.

My Footprints
They have been smaller,
And tentative at times.
Tiptoeing,
Stamping,
And held their ground on occasions. 

But always, they have included You,
Even if I wanted to head in a particular direction for a while,
They returned to a Compass Rose,
Correcting what needed to change.

At least when I listened for Your voice.