The fragile child, “mist,” lazily lays down its grey blanket upon the coolness of the dawning earth. It will only be young for moments. 

With a hand made of light, the sun touches the fog, and the blanket rises into the sky becoming a beautiful cloud.
Before long the cloud rains down, and becomes the ocean. 

My fragile soul, “ Infant God,” ascends within the unfolding seasons of time,

longing to grow up to become, ……………………………….its Father.