I am small, yet my little finger is big enough to change the direction of winds. I have nothing really to say, yet waves of radiation pulsate perpetually from my mouth. Oh, I am busy, so busy, spinning out the diminutive fabric of my business, thinking it cozies everything but knowing beyond admitted awareness that it only covers the tiny openings of my eyes. My tantrum-ed feet, inches long, spider off quakes, and dust storms block the sun as my hair dishevels. You can't win a power struggle with an insecure child, but tell that now to the shouting earth.