I looked out my window this morning and saw this magnificent view.
This Pentecost poem followed.
Fiery tongues ablaze amidst
the green of springtime life,
deep-rooted in an ancient soil of
sagas tawdry, bold, triumphant, worn;
drooping, lifting, swaying with the
steady winds of change; ever
new though ever old; each leaf so
fragile in its shining, so feeble all
alone, but coupled, linked along the
branch with other bright red leaves,
a whispered shout of presence and of
power from beyond that shines through all our
broken limbs, blesses every greening of our lives,
infuses all monotonies.
Come Spirit Wind–eternal, tender, fierce.