In the beginning God
created the heavens and the earth.
The earth was a formless void
of nothingness,
and there was in that nothingness—
silence.
Before the word came
there was a sound.
The breathy static of God inhaling,
filling divine lungs with the power
to say—“Let there be light.”
And with that breath the light came,
the darkness was separated—
the first day.
God inhaled again,
breath crafted sky and water.
As storms traveled across a globe without land,
salty liquid peaked and crashed,
and the universe heard the shattering chords
of wave on water.
Then God added land to the composition
and winds stirred vast spans of
earth and sand.
Divine ears were drowned
in the gritty sound of particles flying through air.
And as the day performed its song
trees began to grow.
Winds played a rustling noise of thickening timbre.
Flowers morphed into apples, peaches, plums, lemons.
They ripened,
fell
and the earth learned
of the splat, the thump, the soft mushy sound
of fruit hitting ground.
And with God’s fifth breath
a hummingbird hummed.
Woodpeckers rapped staccato to join rustling leaves.
The largo of mourning doves flowed across the prairies.
Caribou hooves struck tundra with rhythm.
Snails scratched across rocks,
a cat meowed
as the cricket chirped
the end of the day.
Then God reached down and took dirt in hands,
and breathed yet again—
forming man.
Who exhaled his own sound.
Who talked, and hummed, and screamed and sung.
And in that divine play of mud;
the bass, the baritone and the tenor were given life.
But there was a partner for these pitches,
and God took a bow of rib
drew it across the universe and played the alto,
and the soprano into being.
And as the wind blew
the waves rolled
the lion roared and
the macaw chattered,
there was singing heard in Eden.
God listened—
and knew it was good.
