January 1st, 2004.

The beauty of a storm.

It's okay, God, I see you, between the North Atlantic and the stars. You're making white lightning across a carpet of clouds below me, illuminating continent-sized liquid landscapes and the mountains of mist you created in a heartbeat.

There's no one out here to see you, aside from the pilots of a sleeping plane flying toward the sunrise that won't wait for an introduction before it meets us. Maybe there are boats below me, beneath the clouds that are providing you with this momentary distraction.

God, are you being creative, or are you just playing? I used to think you only made thunder and lightning when you were angry. Having only ever seen a storm on the ground, I never before had the chance to see things from your point of view. But here between the ocean and the worlds above I share your appreciation for the beauty of a storm.

Far be it for me to say this, God, but be careful what you play with, okay? There are a lot of us down here now, some on land, some on the sea, and more than you might imagine a little closer to you than that.

We're all busy down here, God, it's not that we forgot you. So please, feel free to play with the clouds, the wind, and the rain, just be careful where you stand. Some of us aren't quite ready to join you yet. It's nothing personal though, you understand. We've just got so much to do before we're old.

Keep casting stars across the sky though, God. I'm watching out for them. I send you messages from time to time though I don't know if they reach you. I suppose I may have misaddressed them.

I like this space right here, where pages don't confuse us. It's so much more simple when nothing clouds the view. And even though I can still only see a little, it's enough to leave me wanting more.

It's okay, God, I see you. I may not look like I'm paying attention, but I am. I promise.