He is the fingers of a toddler trying not to fall, twirling a yellow leaf in her hand.
He is the energy of a young man, bursting through snow with testosterone and the unquenchable desire to thrust, to fight, to conquer.
He is the arms of a mother cradling new life, and then releasing her to college.
He is the sun-wrinkled eyes of the sage who’s taken in much and has seen much and knows much.
And He is the Spirit of Father Time and Mother Nature who sits above the heavens and conducts time machines and creates portals and dimensions and lots of other stuff that can’t probably even fit into the concept of description.
The wonder of discovery. The loins of courage. The heart of protection. The quietness of wisdom. And the mystery of space. These are the age of God.