Is that the wind awakening me from slumber?
Knocking on the door?
Playing with the trees?
Bringing with it a new spirit of forgiveness
and joy and peace to the temple of my senses?
Oh dear, loving and most high God,
let it be today.
Let your spirit bluster through me,
propel me like the surf crashing across the sand,
wash me clean of the rocky terrain of my heart,
ready me after the ascension of all I have held
with fragile hands throughout these fifty days
of Easter lilies and sacraments and promises.
Even though I shiver in the gusts,
I can hear the mourning doves announcing
the arrival of a new frontier that I celebrate;
the secret miracles that need no attention;
the sun pouring through my filmy curtains;
the pink and white rose petals strewn across my sidewalk path.
Fill me again with the vast abundance
of all that is sacred and miraculous
on this windy Pentecost day in May.