Water, said the Creator. Now that will take some time. I think I’ll make it solid, liquid, gas, a trinity of a thing. It will be separate and distinct but when it comes together, it will be a unity of one-ness that no one can distinguish one drop (that’s what I’ll call each speck of it) from another.
And ice – what a powerful, beautiful, wondrous thing that will be. I think I’ll capstone this planet thing with ice. But in between there shall be oceans and oceans of this, my most amazing creation of all. From it shall come all life. Water, rather than dust, shall be the evidence of my lasting creativity.
And then there shall be rains – not one, but many. Soft sprinkles, so light, so delicate a touch that they shall barely notice it. And plenishing rains that shall bring forth the greening of things. And rains mixed with wind that make a soul bitter when it forgets the deep things that have need of the rains too. And drops thrown so forcefully from the heavens they bounce and bounce again when they meet with solids. And monsoons and typhoons and spring rains and sheets and drizzles and dreich drenching droplets-of-it-filled days of nothing but rain and freezing rains and waters that hang in the sky deciding what they will be – some pouring rains, some fog – and torrential rains and phantom rains and cleansing rains – yes, rain shall be my masterpiece.
And with the rains, they shall know thirst. That shall be their great mystery, the thing once unlocked that makes it all clear. Oh, you, my creatures. You are not earth. Of the earth, but not the earth, you were made unlike the trees, for you were made to move, with the winds and the waters. Planting was not intended for you. I already planted my garden and you were not it. You are the seed on the wind. Trust the wind to take you where you need go and the waters will find you and you them. Hold loosely the ground beneath your feet. Go where the waters flow. You knew this once. Even I am not sure when you lost this knowing. May the rains bring it back to you.