! ! Universe At Finger-Tip

Two or three months back my little finger caught in a closing hinge; could have been worse… since then, the nail’s been every shade of blackish-brown, living some ancient, primitive life, of battered claw, or shellfish, bruised by rock and ocean, yet preserving, in its shell such tender life as heroes live to save.. every day, I watch this primeval drama as, secretly, beneath the horny shell so measured in its protectiveness, dying slowly like a hero who enfolds a baby life within his arms, secretly beneath, there grows a new pink life; its promise makes me look afresh at its neighbour nails; and marvel at the delicacy of their shade from crescent moon to nail so practical.. what lacquer could ever hope to match this living beauty? and I fall silent, still; humbled at this scene that brings the universe’s law and love here to my finger-end. No name of god, or evolution, or Intelligent Design, may encompass my humility; I who know not my own finger-end; humility so still, it’s even beyond prayer. If praise can be one, without form - then this is praise.