I was with him forming all things: and was delighted every day, playing before him at all times;
Playing in the world: and my delights were to be with the children of men.
Now therefore, ye children, hear me: Blessed are they that keep my ways.
All the world is my palette; all of creation my ink stand.
If I begin to draw a raccoon, I can draw him in a scientifically accurate manner, but what if I do not? What if I draw him not as he is, but as I am? What if I make a raccoon in my own image? What if I give him two natures? Human and animal? What if I put him in a parlor, drinking tea and playing backgammon with his friend the wren? Why is this not a stretch of the imagination, but a perfectly easy thing to do? Why is this so amusing and so satisfying?