speaking frankly with the Master of Creation

i had left my headtorch in my rucksack and hid it in the thorny bushes in the goat's pasture (where no-one else would stumble across it), thinking i would be back well before nightfall. (it is not the first time this has happened ) later that night, crawling about the undergrowth, not being able to locate the thing i am looking, preciesly for want of the thing i am looking for (a headtorch), palpating tentatively the dense night air,
  
i say: alright Master of Creation, you who allows all things to happen, you who allow all things to be, what will you have? am i to find my rucksack tonight or not? nothing serious will befall me if i do not find it, it is not cold, i will just curl up and at worst spend a sleepness night, but if i can at all sway your decision, i would frankly be very pleased to stumble across that rucksack, which i know is lurking around one of these bushes in my near vicinity, and get a fire lit and rustle up some nosh, so . . . what is it to be? the future of my night lies in thy hands. . .i accept all that thy will decreeth. (i accepted all the inner tube punctures, yes i accepted all of those.)  O prepotent omnipresent Life Principle, let thy will be done, O let thy will be done. . .





(and so on for fifteen minutes until i stumble across my rucksack)