Yes, Sherlock, The Game Is On!

Every morning I rise before the sun, sip coffee,
scratch the dog, and wonder about the nature
of God.

I enjoy the first two.
About the third.

I put words on a piece of paper, arrange them
with inquisitive care, rearrange them, underline,
replace, bold face, italicize, erase, rearrange.
Pre-dawn wisdom about the Inscrutable is an
erasure smudge on an otherwise blank page.
I find it difficult to draw comfort or courage from
a collection of smudges.  I would sleep late and
give up the chase entirely except the dog loves 
to be scratched; I don't want to damage the
South American coffee industry, and I think
I would miss the hide-and-seek game.

 I know I would miss the occasional ten second flashes
of insight, the strangely satisfying arrangement
of five or six words once in awhile, or the little
tingle in my back that I've thought comes from
rubbing Maggie with my left foot while she snores
at my feet.

Maybe Lennon and McCartney were right.
"There will be an answer.  Let it be."
Maybe.
But Maggie needs the foot rub.
Coffee growers can use the money.
And, The Elusive One seems to enjoy the chase.
Always comes back for more.

So.