Silvery cirro-strattus clouds skin the sky, haloing the light.

20,000 feet below, the waters slosh and slap, a high-strung stallion, trembling, and dangerous.

But Yahweh fixes his eyes on the unruly liquid.

His gaze is peace, order.

And then words.

Yahweh speaks and the waters cannot help but obey.

They cascade onto and away from one another.

They gather and recede, ebbing here and rushing there.

The roar of their motion sounds, it sounds like his voice.

Yahweh nods at the vast gathering places.

Ocean.

Then he takes the water to school, blesses it with a law.

Many laws, in fact, cohesion, surface tension, adhesion.

Your obedience will make you beautiful, he says. And then, perhaps, to illustrate, he lets fall

a single drop into a waiting pool. One day, humans will see this with slow motion cameras, but for now, it's only his to enjoy.

The drop plunges, and when it strikes the pool, it ricochets, as if the water were casting

an invader back into the air, rejecting it.

But then the drop falls again, gravity. And this time the waiting water surrenders to the

inevitable the drop is received and its energy transferred radially pushing a hoop of liquid up

around the place of impact a rising cylinder jagged at its top or scalloped or crinulated, like a crown.

"'A royal greeting, then.

"'The drop welcomed home by King Water.

...