My maker has cast me forever to frown, a mask of the horrified, each line shaped just so.  I wonder what it’d be like to smile?

So soft, the tiniest of breaths, the most miniscule twitch of whiskers, and the sweep of eyelids closing just so. 

For one long pause, there is a perfect moment of stillness and the sweet harmony of fire, earth, water, and air. 

The outer skin of the onion, no, my heart, flakes off, revealing layers and layers of bitter pungency.  Will the fire burn it to a crisp or melt it into smoky sweet caramel?

They sought to strip it of its glory, carrying away the riches and resplendent roof but by taking it down to its bare essentials, it instead becomes more truly a worship song, a resounding proclamation of God.

There’s no fear in the curving of her ear or the languid switch of her tail or the arch of her neck, the breeze ruffling her fur.  She enjoys her midday meal, her eyes gazing placidly in the distance, thinking thoughts that are her own. 

The Earth curves delicately, grand vistas turning to naught but patterns etching the surface, carved by forces inexorably patient and uncompromising.