Maybe the earth is too round for your liking, the raindrops too many to count with your fingers, the fruit trees too tall for your reach, but dear, listen to what I have to say: I could not disagree with your disbelief on why some things do not align with the planets of the cosmos that is your mind. Instead, I praise you for this incredulity, as to how rainwater slides from our bodies, feeling great about it, the only departure we could love. You see, ‘wondering too much’ is an awful marriage of words; there is no gauge, no measure for an article of wonder. You ought to know that curiosity did not kill the cat, rather, it brought itself a mouse for dinner. You might receive your mouse too but not now because Father (can I call you this?) we too are as bland as the earth have expected (…till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return. Remember?), too reliant with what we have, too short the heavens, had to promise the trees would drop their fruits if it’s time. Let things be just for this moment, let the great old world spin quietly. Quietly.