Primitive religion is not believed, it is danced!

Arthur Darby Nock

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

Elizabeth Browning

Friday, December 9, 2011

Waiting on the Lord

On a winter’s Day

White capped sentinels
Thrust into startling blue
The frigid sun slowly slides behind the hills
Casting out weak rays of warmth
That bounce off rocks and trees
The smell of smoke wafts through the trees
And the coldness of the air takes one’s breath away

It is an amazing day

And yet beauty is not just in the eyes
But in the heart and mind of the beholder
And on this day
Joy does not fly

But lies trapped by
And loss

And so not even God’s grandeur
Can lift the heart
And cause the soul to soar

And yet one is told
To wait upon the Lord
And that in the waiting
The resting
Will come an answer

And one will once again
Soar like an eagle
Into that startling blue

And so I wait

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