This is another painting of Achmelvich not far from where Elaine and I were camping. It is the time of the incoming tide, that singularity that God has given the planet, within which we all live. The sonnet suggests the belief in chance is a bit thin.

So you believe no God created this,
no great design, but just a happenstance,
not personal, but rather hit or miss,
not even aim, but just a primal dance
of stupid chemicals. Yet even they
need pre-constructing into atom, quark,
from which non-aiming hits, you say,
the universe was made. Shots in the dark,
no guns, no big N “Nature” doing things,
sand with IQ (but not computer chips)
has done it all. The cosmic order springs
from elementary particles with slips.
I can’t believe – unless the quarks have phones
and don’t pay extra for more distant zones.