Above us, sky transforms to Mother.
She throws tantrums, roaring in fragmented obscenities, crying in exhaustion, and obscuring colors to drown creativity.
Behind us, trunk transforms to Father.
He covers land, burrowing in equatorial shadows, trembling in seismic silence, and unearthing seed to expose deformity.
Beside us, ruins transform to Nature.
It stitches leaves, pining in sightless needles, whipping in ordered chaos, and producing textiles to shield strongholds.
Within us, anguish transforms to Love.
We kiss with emotional semitones, refracting in irresistible warmth, and radiating anchor lights to support the microgravity of reconstruction.
All parts of this expression are essential, and on par with but one unit of excellence.