The Hand of God

There are times
when the wind whispers
secrets to the trees, softly caressing
each leaf, dancing over the grasslands
and kissing across the skin;
a pleasant interlude, a time
for kites, cloud-watching,
laying in a hammock, lulled
by the sway of the breeze.

Then, there are times
when the wind rages, crying
through the night, a wailing lament,
the sound of ten thousand lost souls
searching for solace as yet unfound,
a banshee’s symphony of thunderous
crescendos, blue-white lightening strikes,
rampaging through the countryside
leaving only destruction in its wake.

A time, when surely we see
the hand of God at work, the power
and awe-inspiring force of nature
that bound across the landscape,
helter-skelter, skipping over this
house and leveling that barn,
uprooting trees that have stood
for a century, leaving only
tears and broken dreams behind.

And yet, the sun still rises
blessing each day with a new
beginning; some filled with hardship
and sorrow, others overflowing with joy
of a life still lived. The secret is determining
how to find the joy within
the hardship. That must also be
the hand of God delivering
us out of the darkness into the light.


(Life on the plains always includes the wind; it is a presence that lives and breathes, surrounding the inhabitants with both pleasure and fear. It becomes a tornado, a force so powerful that those at the high end of the scale, EF5, are sometimes referred to as “the hand of God”.  ~ lgb, 2010)

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