Tales of the Wind

There is a heavy blow on this morning, wind strong, cold and out of the west.  I like the meditation of the wind.  What blows hard on my face this a.m. is part of distant places.  This wind is really the breath of thousands of humans, miles and millennia away, orchestrated by nature to roar in a symphony of God.  What tales this wind could tell, sorrows breathed out in anguish, love breathed out hot and wanting, play breathed out in a rush on some playground, prayer breathed out beside the bed of a loved one. The great wonder is that this wind was breathed out today by a working mother, two hundred years ago as a wagon crossed the plain, a thousand years ago as ancient man set by the Mississippi River and even 10,000 years ago in Eden.  It’s been cleansed by trees and now is not human breath as much as soul wind.  What you're breathing in while you read this may be what I breathed out as I wrote it.

Yeah there’s a heavy blow on this morning and no wonder, it’s blown up with the life of humans.