He sits alone.
Strategically and sometimes wildly transcribing the notes so real in his head to a crumpled scribbled meager piece of paper. The work is intense beauty. A masterpiece from a master's head. From his heart.
Every note. Every pause. Every strum, beat and breath of every instrument must be painstakingly transcribed to come together into one stunning heart-stopping masterpiece.
And then...he puts down the pen and sighs, "It is good."
but it is not the end.
The symphony has been laid out in a line of black and white. The beginning to the end...masterfully transcribed and finished.
The master re-emerges and with hands raised he begins. Swift, dancing movements up and down, soft and striking. Directing and interpreting each note as the players follow his every movement. Subtle. Strong. Once more his heart flows out of his hands until the final note is played under his direction.
At another time...
They sat alone.
Strategically and wildly putting into place the plan in Their mind. In Their heart. An intense beauty. A masterpiece from the Master.
Every star. Every eruption. Every change, cell and breath of every creature must be planned to come together into one stunning heart-stopping masterpiece.
He rests. It is good.
But it is not the end.
Creation...the work of the Master has been laid out in a beautiful timeline. Beginning to end. Incomprehensible. Finished.
The Creator does not leave. Each sparrow that falls, each changing cell, each child He watches, directs, orchestrates through the timeline of His perfect plan. The tense notes, the sharp notes, all beautifully fashioned into a Symphony of Creation.