Inside, nestled into a corner of the brain, lies a chapel tucked away just in case we need it. Tear ducts have been installed for weeping, fingers for pointing, painting, and sometimes pinching. When glee or ecstasy overtake us, we are provided outlets for dancing and singing. On the long dark days of need, there is our inner chapel, deemed by some to be “the God gene.”  Why not?

 

The wind blows unseen

Fireflies dance in synchrony

Painter of sunsets