Thank you for this majestic display of how small I am.
If this field is a mere speck of dust compared to the vastness of Your creation, then I must only be a whisper.
And yet, You choose to call this whisper Your beloved.
I fight, struggle and kick to push away, and this piece of land obeys your every command without question.
But it’s me that You call child, while this beautiful pasture will die during winter’s season.
I’ll never understand it, but I’ll breath it in and let it fill my lungs and let it push out the mess that keeps me from breathing.
And I’ll surrender it all.