God uses nature to speak to us in so many ways. Sometimes it is the beauty of color, line, and texture. Sometimes it is the awesome power of wind or rushing water. And sometimes the message comes through what isn't said, drought, for instance. The poems that follow all have to do with nature speaking to the soul. Summer Sunday was written in the midst of the drought of 1988 (makes me feel a tad old to think how long ago that was now), and Rain was written during the storm that ended that drought and brought such welcome relief and much rejoicing and thanksgiving.
Your voice, it moans and moves and soars
In low and hallowed tones,
While I, your captive audience,
Find happiness in hearing,
Drowning in a harmony
Of song, and sound, and thought.
Crashing on the shore,
The trickle of the rain...
Your voice, my soul,
It was a summer Sunday,
Hot and dry as too many before had been.
The choir sang.
Announcements were made.
We turned to the Word.
With each reference came
The turning of pages---
The gentle shower
Of whispered impression
"I have food of which you do not know."
"Ask Me for living water."
And then we prayed.
A maze of tiny trenches carved by sunbeam heat
Fill and fall and flatten.
Roots rise to meet their sustenance.
Roses droop as tiny weights collect.
So quiet falling my ears ache.
Suddenly the sound BREAKS and CRACKS,
And then resumes the quiet,
Drenching the land drop by drop,
Low, constant, cool, soothing mercy.