This...

This…
My ultimate creative miracle
So unlike what has gone before
All else was just the frame

This…
Is not spoken into being
Commanded to be
By a single potent word

This…
Is no huge expanse
No firmament above the waters
No separation of water and sky

This…
Is not a mountain or a valley
Robed in swaying grasses
Clothed in forests of mighty oaks

This…
Is no flaming sun
Glorious in heat and radiance
Or cold and remote like the moon

This…
Is no eagle soaring on high
No sparrow skipping on a sun speckled branch
And nothing that twists and turns in the dark waters

This…
Is not a beast
Lumbering and clambering
Empty of soul

This…
I have held in my hand
Clay from the ground
Fashioned and crafted

This
I have breathed upon
Touched by my Spirit
Ignited and stirred to life

This…
Vessel of My image
In his being
I see Myself

This…
Fragile bone and flesh
Small in the immensity of the universe
Endowed with significance

This…
Free to choose
To love or reject
To draw near or to walk away

This…
Is man

This…
I love