Where the Wind Is

I look at the leaf,
so high and lonely seeming,
but not alone,
swaying in worship of the sky—
glow-green beneath the perfect blue,
and I, delighting with it, say:
 
I want to be where the wind is;
up there, where it strokes the leaves
and makes them shiver in ecstasy,
where God’s touch, both cool and warm,
is ever bringing me to life,
above the shadows,
below the sun,
at peace but always changing,
trembling but always still,
never so secure as in a storm,
never so alive as in silence,
where the wind is.
 
Then I look at the leaf 
and remember
when that was enough
to believe
in the tree.

Written in the 2000s.

non-rhyming, freestyle, short, nature, musings, faith