Children

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Hands in the wind

With every moment and every memory there comes a balance or
a sacred reminisce if you would: I like to call it “The rewind” or past
memories where we think on the unsubtle photo shots of yesteryears
that lie caught within the thickets of the soul. As I pause and lie prey to
the memories within; I have found that I have come up short and that
gasping for the wind was wrapped around my heart. The bye~gone
days of distant tomorrows have been just that: Like a fierce wind blow-
ing against my hands as if I could capture them in the close of my
fists. What do I have to show for, or where is the weight of my prec-
ious evidence or the fruit from the good that I have sown like scatter-
ed seeds compiled upon the grounds of mother time.
If what I have done yesterday affects my today; Then give me
the fear of God that tomorrows evidence would be covered in peace.
The winds and the thoughts of yore have danced against my palms as
I openly sought to entice her lost familiar face. I am here today but
tomorrow is gone and it will never be again nor will it be found. Like
an invisible string tightened around the mind, tomorrow is gone and it
is something that I may never imprison as an authentic today. But I
still hold as stars pulled from the sky and placed in the pocket of a
simple man some of the glittery highlights of that which has already
been.
As time goes bye redemption for seconds replay in my hope-
ful soul as if with my little power I could reach out and catch them
in the soft of my hand. Help me God to number my days; That I may
gain a heart of wisdom and scatter kindness from soul to soul. I have
been a school bus driver for six years now and even on my roughest
days they’ve seemed to be the brightest; These kids are like little slices
of glory or fixtures of perfection wrapped up in the Father’s love: They
were the days where the honeycomb of intervention was uncovered in
the secret place of my heart.
But yesterday is gone, and now here I am beholding the glips-
es of sunlight that the shadowless passing yesterdays have left. I clos-
ed my eyes and beheld like a butterfly caught in a thorn bush or faith
encased in simple flesh, that the good times of the things which were
already are real, but I cannot see them. They are as sweetened water
that I cannot drink. And as angles food that I may not eat. So from
a kid that out grows his catcher glove to a little girl that grows up to
be a woman; So time goes on… everyday… And I cannot explain the
joy that even the hardest moments have brought to me.
It is through the darkness that the stars appear bright. It is through the rain that the rainbow’s upside down smile poses in silent
glory. And it is through the labor for now that the good things that I
worked so hard for yesterday, has become in me a glorious day, a
dominate fixture of optimism and a worth wildness of a no regret past.
Savor your yesterdays and the good memories of joy and gladness. Be-
cause tomorrow today will be yesterday, and today I will walk face against
the sky, feet above the sand and with my open hands pressed against the wind; So that I might cover the pain today with the goodness I’ve sown
yesterday and the pleasure that I’ll know tomorrow.



By Scott Greenlaw

Date 7-23-05

Title Hands in the wind

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