Waiting for the Storm - Ruah Bull
The air sweet and tangy reaches deep into lungs as leaves shuffle like dancers waiting for the opening curtain Squirrels scoot for one last sunflower seed the birds not so courageous or foolish There is movement in this kind of waiting not just the rushed grab- firewood, bread, gin- but a restless poise as Spirit rushes across the roiling waters All waiting for the cleanse that will flood, often shatter, and we pray renew The land breathes Nothing else smells like this
