Rusty weathervanes squeak as they turn
Colorful kites soar over unfamiliar park trees
Fisherman, baffled, walk to the sunlit side of the pond, to cast
The cautious buck pokes his horned crown out from bristly brush
A red stained wren sings a song solely for newly opened windows
I feel wind blowing
from
a new
direction
Though my eyes still ache when touched by sunlight
I clearly see a narrower path, now revealed
As giant firs drop their arms in homage to the keeper of wind
Their high boughs bow in humility to the Holy Spirit
I smell the aroma of pine sap; tears of joy from the forest that once only whispered their secret in soft night breezes
Though I awoke
In the wake
of yesterday’s
hurricane
Today
I see
I taste
I hear
I smell
I sense
I feel wind blowing
from
a new
direction
And
I smile
For the first time
Since…
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I've been waiting for a voice like yours to show up here... a deep well that you have plumbed to pull up words that live and breathe and are weighty with meaning, with pictures for my thirsty heart.
Thanks for writing and I look forward to reading more of your work. Bless you.
LA. Evans
