Before the Big Bang and/or the Garden of Apples, you blueprinted my body, anticipated my soul.
From the beginning of time to this time.
I am a sand dune, laid grain on grain by all of man's history, distant and obscure.
Recent generations have shaped me with a more effective, firmer shove, building short-lived castles upon me and digging protective heffalump holes.
Now, in my here time I am finally allowed to offer my voluntary submission to the often unnoticeable waves of movement and erosion.
Sometimes a stream of sand three grains wide plummeting into the tiny air hole of a buried crab.
Sometimes the whomp of a big wave (across the head), like a bulldozer, with the sense of the Creator's touch - skin to skin as the mound moves.
Later, fire will turn my sand to crystal and I shall reflect the light - as the Garden of Apples intended.