It is still this morning, the leaves, the trees, the grass all silent. Sculptures stand quietly in my yard, each a part of the stillness. Fall is slowly nibbling away at summer, a degree here, a colored leaf there, a silent resting morning signaling the long value colored days ahead. It is still this morning and stillness is when God is so easily heard, for those who have ears to hear, for those that are listening with those ears, for those who know the voice of God—He sounds something like a cool wind, a small stream, a lover’s whispered love—or maybe just the warmth of their breath upon your ear. The knowing that life is in the breath, and you are aware you are alive because you are loved. It is still this morning.
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