Lucas Durand
I feel Your presence in the Wind.
The soft caress, the gentle chill,
The comfort that, though I have sinned,
You still shall use me as You will.
The Wind prompts life out of the dead.
The inanimate stirs in praise
As trees solemnly bow their heads
And their arms towards the heavens raise.
The Wind holds power unbridled
And moves as both a breeze and storm.
A “hallowed” idol, hollow, idle,
Cannot rouse even its own form.
The Wind makes not its visage known:
Its invisible attributes
Are felt instead ‘neath the sky’s dome
And reveal what it constitutes.
Its touch dances across my skin
And, at my lowest, in my soul.
For You, O God, devised the Wind
To remind me, in You, I’m whole.
I feel Your presence in the Wind.
A gust raises my eyes to You.
It’s my comfort, though I have sinned,
That to Your servant You keep true.