GOD’S GIFT: Proof that even God enjoys a duvet day

These days, I believe God awakes,

stretches his arms, rolling

his shoulder blades with a long, satisfying yawn.

He shakes his misty cloud-duvet into puffy perfection,

folds it neatly in two,

admiring infinite hues of pink

blending enchantingly

between his fingers.

He breathes in deep, clasps his hands with delight

as the sun peeks shyly over the Alps,

then rises in a rousing crescendo –

like a Freddie Mercury vocal –

a thrill of molten gold.

I believe God

pats his lavender powder-puff-pillow

back into shape,

then swings his legs over

the silver shimmer of fog

drifting beneath the Alps,

and sits for a while,

feet dangling,

a contented smile

lifting his chubby cheekbones.

I believe he remains there,

meditating above the mesmerizing

sapphire blue of the lake,

the fairytale towns, the villages, the lakeside castles,

the crimson-gold vineyards shedding their final leaves,

the cows grazing dreamily in the lilac morning mist

that lingers among the rich autumnal folds

of the Jura mountains.

Later, I believe,

God takes a gentle wander –

treading lightly

upon cotton-ball cloud stepping-stones,

reaching down now and then to run his fingertips

over the wondrous textures of the world below.

Because, if I were God, I would.