The Electric Present
A morning beach walk in the Pacific Northwest leads to the realization that there is no such thing as an ordinary day.
But if not mine, whose world have I stumbled into? Did God abandon creation to me? Did blind chance splatter matter into this miracle? I'd unfurl the flowers' petals and uncoil their stems to know, for they seem like signs, but no signatures are engraved within, not in characters I can read.
