What if the world began as a lump of clay, sitting by the way?

What if it were then picked up by a passing artisan?

What if they then began spinning, shaping it into a sphere?

What if they, bored with the drab perfection, gouged deep rifts and raised high ridges on it?

What if they looked at it and, finding it colorless, filled the depths with the deep blue of water?

What if they went over the lands, painting them vivid colors, yellow of sands, green of forests?

What if they brought life, great and small, into the empty wilderness?

What if they then found some small flaw, and dissatisfied, set it aside, never to return?

What if?