|Wind-blown barley by Beren Hartless|
The slightest touch, is urging on.
To grow is to be open, to respond.
Sometimes, drastic deaths
Are needed to bring growth.
At others, feather-light, insistent possibilities
Come floating past
Like wisps of mist.
Listen! - The wind blows where and how it wills.Maybe the groaning gusts
Uprooting all before,
Sweeping away accumulations
Littered round the garden of a life,
Are now transformed to gentle zephyr strokes,
Light, stimulating breaths,
That set up strengthening reactions
In the sappy new shoots
Springing in the soul.
The Wind of GodAll Spirit, blows in change,
Fully humanising fledgling beings
Fixed in fractured, time-distorted stasis.
Life, abundantly enjoyedWithin the Wind,
Flowing with the onward dance of God
Reflects the wholeness of the perfect One.