Before the Turn of Autumn

Sometimes it takes a single breeze to remind us He speaks in transience.

The sensation is odd,

The feeling of bare skin

Of neck’s nape exposed,

After so long beneath God’s

Gracious gray covering,

The back of my neck feels bare.

I am here awaiting the whisper,

When the fickle fall breeze

Decided to remind that He

Works in chill as much as heat,

He calls and we are all awaiting,

Our answer long ago given,

The return of the Risen King.

Yes, and this breeze too is His,

A lesson given if viewed as such,

Of the thankfulness for blessings,

Like faded cotton hoodies, soft and blue,

Or well-worn denim, wide legged,

Socks with my dog Louie V’s face printed,

Above old school black and white vans.

I am blessed and highly favored for times like these,

Where we can stop and taste the breeze,

Just before it makes the full turn towards Autumn,

That perfect mix of pre-storm energy swirling the air,

Little cyclones unborn mingling in slightly damp foreboding gusts,

It stirs, and I understand — this too is Him, comforting.

The calm before the storm feels fragile, painfully so.

Perhaps its transience has granted it a measure of beauty