People of the Netherlands know a thing the rest of us do not. It is a thing children are taught with their sums in school: the world we inhabit is writ large in another. We are reflected ever smaller into infinity, one world to another, diminishing until all that remains of what began a universe is a grain of sand.
The great sun rises in the mind of God and shines its light on all, causing trees to grow tall and bear fruit; mountain streams to run; and animals to bear young according to their season.
The light travels - brilliant or soft - through the skies and windows of each world until even the grain of sand glows luminous, and so, flourishes.
Wind blows as the voice of Creation calling out from one reflection to another, until, at its most minute, it breathes gently in a whisper.
Likewise the rain that falls as oceans from skies heavily laden, running over water falls, and landing afresh on newer, thirstier ground.
And so it is with all things: nothing is ours to hold, for what is had was given, and is ours to give once more.
(a response to the prompt: why does it rain)