Prelude to a Storm

I watched the storm roll in.
Literally.
In my backyard.
Ominous clouds moving eastward.

Looking west, leafed branches move violently.
Winds stir quick movements.
And seconds later I am caught in the squall.
Yet the trees have stilled.

A hawk soars above and catches air.
Normally graceful, but now glides erratically on gusts. 

Grass pulsing in invisible currents.
The draft shares lilac's fragrance.

I stand in awe.
I wonder at nature.
Divine art in motion.
Creation orchestrated by Providence.

And I just want that to be me.
Guided by the Author of my soul.
Doing what I was made to do.
Driven by His passion.
Moved by His power.
Unafraid.
Freed 
to bend 
or sway 
or soar
or pulse
as He sees fit.

Standing in the yard
just before a storm
and my soul aches
to be directed 
by the same Beauty
directing the zephyr.

Winds conceive longing
and
spirit births Spirit.
Pneuma.


And I am reborn in the backyard.

The Spirit of life in Christ, like a strong wind, 

has magnificently cleared the air, 

freeing you from a fated lifetime of brutal tyranny 

at the hands of sin and death. 

Romans 8:1 (The Message)