Sometimes It Causes Me to Tremble

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I sip my morning tea and watch a tree of elfin

leaves a-quiver in a gentle breeze; and when the

winds whip up their strength to bluster through their

fragile lives, I watch them tremble fearfully;

*

as if they know the wind has

power unimagined in their tininess;

has traveled far beyond their

narrow ken—from Arctic cold,

perhaps, or from some arid desert strip;

spoken with the Bora, or the Mistral or the

Foehn; spoken in a thousand tongues to

whisper secrets of colossal power, of

fear, of joy audacious and immense.

*

No wonder, then, these wee leaves quiver at the

murmurs of this wind and tremble when

she boasts of all the hallowed marvels of this

world so vast and strange. Sometimes

she causes me to tremble too; tremble at the

power of Holy Wind that weaves this

fearsome, wondrous tapestry of life; tremble at the

tenderness of Ageless Wind who stepped one

day into our time and took on human hands,

hands open-nailed at Golgotha to reach and

hold us lovingly—each one of us,

               each tiny leaf,

                    each tiny life

a-quiver in the winds that sing their

joys and sadness through the

disappearing hours of our days.

 

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