Gone are the bright leaves of the fall,
And barren branches stand so tall,
The wind cuts through my meager clothes;
A bit of chill upon my nose.
The sky so dreary, and people weary,
But pink-tinged clouds at sunset shout
Of beauty gracing —
Silver-lined clouds lacing.
And still the air is not so cold.
But wintry temper’tures so bold
Will soon bring flurries and people hurrying
To still the chill within their souls.
I saw the lofty clouds,
Like mountains piled high.
I wondered if the angels,
Or God, were dancing there.
And then the thunder rolled,
A wave of sound; God speaking there.
I saw the real mountains,
The jagged cliffs, with snow adrift,
Their fearsome heights created
By a holy God — And who can tell
If He does not there dwell?
But He’s not bound by earth or sky;
Perhaps He’s in a lullaby,
Or in a spouse’s kiss; He’s ne’er amiss.
To know His love is awe and bliss.
The storm predicted was much delayed
Though clouds did threaten, though wind began
Its quiet moaning, tree branches groaning.
We waited, waited – wondering
When heaven’s tensions would bring declension
To weather’s warmth and pleasantness.
When least expected, suddenly
A hurried haste of air and water
Gushed and guttered from the sky.
“It’s like a deluge!” – We take our refuge
‘Neath covered arches, no comfort wanting.
But soon it’s finished, the rain diminished,
The wind decreased, or almost ceased –
The sun appearing.
Now water jewels appear on trees
On branches glinting, our minds imprinting
With dreams of fairy fireflies.
It doesn’t feel much like heaven now,
Though I get glimpses of it.
Those who nearly die
And have visions of heaven, or hell —
Live transformed by gratitude.
I don’t know why
Some see heaven
And others do not.
Perhaps we have to train
Our hearts and eyes.
Perhaps we need to deliberately
Think
Of seeming coincidences
As real miracles.
We have forgotten our wonder,
Filled with self-importance,
Thinking we are the only creators.
What a heavy burden to bear!
Do you ever stare
At the moving clouds,
And wonder?
A hint of chill,
A wisp of crispness
in the air.
A gentle breeze,
Just slightly cold.
An achy joint,
If you are old.
The geese are flying
And clouds are lying
in lazy drifts —
Their white belying
The darker clouds to come.
We pull the sweaters
From our dressers —
the furnace on.
The harvest dawn —
The crops are gathered
And birds are scattered.
What is the reason
For changing seasons?
To keep awake
And not to take
for granted —
The wonder of creation.
There’s a narrow view of the sky
Between the curtains.
The clouds are drifting by,
Ever so slowly.
These puffy pillows,
These dusty denizens of the sky,
Move calmly and gracefully.
How was I allowed this privilege
To see a reflection
Of God’s glory?
The earth is not my home,
Nor any special land.
Though my heart beats strong
In many places,
In lands where I know many faces —
Still, none can I call home.
Heaven is my home,
Though it I’ve never seen,
Except, when the Creator set
My soul upon earth’s scene.
Heaven is my home,
Seen only in my dreams,
Through mists of time,
Through clouds sublime,
In half-heard tunes
Under bright-lit moons,
In sideways glances
And angels’ dances.
And so, when I go home,
I hope you’ll soon come, too;
On angels’ wings, as choirs sing —
We’ll all be finally home.
Clouds bursting forth,
After long pregnancy –
Such a long time waiting;
Fulfilling their destiny.
Desert blooming,
Long time coming –
Dryness senses water;
Life is flourishing.
Century plant
Growing so slowly.
Once in a lifetime
Its bloom condescending.
There are many waitings.
The patience of God
Is eternal.
Bird songs billowing from the hedges,
From meadows, grasses, trees and sedges.
Twitter, toot, and hoot, and tweet,
Their song and melody so sweet.
Flowers timid peep from ground;
Will the warmth still be around?
Frogs in creeks at night do croak,
Parents take walks with little folk.
The sun can warm us as we walk,
But clouds are good to cool us off.
Still a chill in morning air,
But new life battles all our cares.
clarakatalin 