Everything that exists is in perpetual motion,
dancing to a certain rhythm
that is the pulse beat of the universe.
A cosmic symphony, if you will.
A glorious hymn to all that there is.
As the cosmic dance continues,
planets and comets collide,
stars and galaxies explode
and a wild riot of colors is painted
across the universe
from deep reds and purples,
to glorious yellows and oranges,
to subdued blues and greens,
to blinding whites.
Man looks up to the heavens
and captures it all in songs, poems and tales
about his cosmic roots and origins.
And on earth as in the heavens:
the towering mountains majestic in their grandeur,
the magnificent blue seas of roaring waves and soothing zephyr,
the fertile valleys washed by rivers to bear much fruit and flowers,
the beautiful creatures that feed on all this beauty and bounty.
And the ultimate thrill and beauty of all this
is that I meet the author
of all that beauty and grandeur every morning.
In a moment of prayer.