What happens when I forget my camera

Long, thin wisps
like paintbrush strokes
trailing behind a massive dark cloud.
Bright white strands intertwined with dark grey-blue ribbons.
Ends swept up on one end as if in a shrugged smile.
Stretching from east to west.
Following.
Brush strokes over cool, bright-blue fall air.

And corn
not quite brown 
but dying.
Readying itself for it's end:
Harvest
Used to sustain life going on after its death.

I'd like to be the clouds. 
Delicate beauty
vibrantly displaying the glory of God.
Showing off.
Fleeting.
Am I willing to admit that I'm just vapor?
Glowing pink for mere minutes
but for that minute, the most glorious thing in the sky
drawing praise
turning eyes to the Creator.

But who wants to be the corn?
One of millions exactly like it
standing row by row
whose purpose is growth
then multiplication
then death.
Fun, huh?

All this beauty. 
For us?

And then:
"God created man in His own image,
in the image of God He created him;
male and female He created them.
[And] God saw all that He had made,
and behold, it was very good."
Gen. 1:27, 31 (italics mine)