Gray waves black as thunder–white caps foaming peaks of violet snow–crash through transparent rainbows dancing on violent waters sucking tremulous defiant skies kneeward toward the ocean floor. Rocking cradles of transformation–birthing (as if it were easy) new and strange worlds from tainted boulders, that live. Yes, rocks are alive. As hosts. To bear life. How wonderful. So I was right, God exists in all life and non-life. Wow. First I think it, then I say it, then I write it, and then God proves it. Random or predestined? Obviously predestined, since it needs a host. Ha. Let’s rock this baby to sleep, before she figures out who it really is.