Before the dawn, on the Earth’s ninth day, the crisp green gold of leaves and wood–vital and pleasures infinite. And what is sleep or rest. What is day? What is night? What is sky? What is sea? All are in a stage of discovery and wonder. The sun and the earth are still strangers, getting acquainted, and learning fresh and new ideas together. Nothing has been defined. Where will you go? What will you do? All is open. All is available. You only need to decide what glory, what place, what presence. There is something called a sun, there, and now, what is this? I feel drops. Something is pricking me. It’s rain. It’s called rain. Rain falls on my arms. See the goodness felt in me. In my arm. Look at me. I’m a man, man. My skin, my golden-honeyed skin. My hair. I have hairs. Hair. The names came, and keeping coming, man choosing the names. The garden. More trees. More leaves. More grass. The man, the man is standing, the man is walking, the man is sleeping, the man is naked. Another night is coming. We call this night because it is dark. Close eyes, sleep, dream. Out of something so rare and privileged come thoughts. Thinking and reason begin in sleep and arrives in wakefulness, put into sharp relief by dreams.