I am parched and dry dreaming of rain like a thirsty crop no, not rain: I imagine a downpour, would prefer a drenching a soaking like rum in a bread pudding. Oh, to be drunk on new wine to relish a draught of liquid life, Living Water. Sadly, there is no time to drink so I settle for drops few and far between but packed with life reminding me there is more where that came from, the everlasting River.

The wind is washing waves over me, moving birds and branches with a jet engine pushhhhhhh…   tumbling, not sand,  but sky high sentinels shouting in whispers,  not of water but waves on sullen shores of sky far, far from the summer season a world of blue water away.

Ah, there’s the rub, eh? The hubris of the know-it-all mind that deludes itself into thinking “if one knows, why one can manage” and if we were all experts life as we know it wouldn’t quite creep up on us with such malicious surprise. Raindrops are nicely contained in a new copper rain gutter but comes a deluge and unforeseen storm, those gutters fly right off the house. Malicious surprises await us and there is nothing we can do about it. No planning can prepare us No people can protect us. We must, like Job, throw our hands heavenward and say, ‘tho He slay me, yet will I trust him.”…

I bend to be formed, not torn or broken but tempered by heat, a fire so hot the white is all You see of me. I said change and grow and I’m bent so low this shape of me is melting brass forged by tools so strong I fear the breaking.   But I’m bound to bend, be shaped, sheared sound, let this shine of me play gleaming glory, become the beautiful breath of sudden notes quickened by Spirit, living tune played through me, a golden song borne on the honeyed breeze of dawn.