life happens play time at the salt marsh unfolds thus you and Weak God are making mud pies smoothing sides, flattening tops piling mud to the point of top-heavy collapse forming shapes according to your fancy circles next to squares across from irregulars the Weak One is all enthusiasm, all appreciation for you, your play, the day, everything really individually attending to each pleasing detail you on the other mud-covered hand are highly distractible patting a pie in place periodically, then becoming captivated by wind’s whistle through marsh grasses intrigued by sun’s glint held inside salt grains eventually, you will return to side-by-side merging water’s cool, earth’s texture letting slippery masses slide between fingers tomorrow, waves may threaten God did not send them rains may pelt God did not direct them rays may blister until all your efforts become a mound of dust God is not punishing when conditions return to advantageous : recommence whatever forms evoke the good you dream of though temporary, take them up anew
(Inspired by The Weakness of God: A Theology of the Event by John Caputo)
Flight of the dragonfly 