the bubble that is me

our lives are just like bubbles,

blown into being,

our Maker like that kid with the bubble wand and bubble foam,

blowing life into bubbles,

and watching them ,

flit, float and like all bubbles eventually pop,

even the most beautiful, which catch the sunlite and sparkle with a rainbow inside a delite to watch,

they still burst,

some grow big and pop before they even leave the wand,

some fall too fast and reach the ground before He can reach them,

others are just the right size and they float heavenwards, or hang in the air and can be plucked right out like ripe fruit,

once popped the bubble may leave a mark,

some large ones others small wet spots,

but eventually it evaporates and fades away,

each bubble unique,

each with a special characteristic,

and each with its own path to travel in a seemingly random motion,

but blown to the direction of the invisible creator’s breath.

float dear bubble float

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