In the beginning there was one. Soaring through the quiet. Pure and whole, contrasted against the hush of empty space. Each movement accentuated by undiluted autonomy. Dive. Climb. Dance. Alone.

In the middle there were seventy. Groups jumped in playfully, some individuals wandered in. Joyously they played; a few disharmonious scamps escalated the play and eventually fought, dragging others into the fray as they went. The frenzy intensified and elements of the seventy pulled apart the conflict, adding sweetness and mirth, but the altercation had resulted in alterations. There was a dim and then a swell.

At the end there were four. A full bodied grouping; wholesome and clear, but edged with a past of fiery experience. Despite their numbers, they impressed upon the world a power almost greater then the seventy and a presence as unique as the one. They wove in and out and soared and wriggled, but as suddenly as the one started, the four slowed.

Breath was baited. Silence fell.

And then thunder.