Puzzle pieces so small, singular in composition and form, but ready to grow forth.
From these, creations are endless.
Worlds come, not from great bursts of sudden creation, but alterations of minute importance, piled atop each other for infinity.
Earth, solidity upon which everything from metropolises to grass can grow.
Air, that gasping layer of ever-shifting matter so ever-present and gentle as it fills your lungs, but also explosive enough to shatter the roof above your head, or tear a home from its foundation.
Fire, warmth that beats back the frozen emptiness which grows within your bones, and a cleanser of evil, painful memories, and that which once grew and lit the land of the living with its presence, but now must be interred among its native soil.
Water, cool, refreshing, and life-giving when pure and true, but all too ready to absorb and carry along the filth and scree of our creations and mistakes.
This world on which we live was already built for us when we got here.
There are wonders of natural beauty in every direction or eyes can see, and beneath our feet, waiting inches from our fingertips,
If only we would decide to explore this erratic, invaluable, complicated, undiscovered, unending, tactile, and beautiful world on which we live.