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Whence comes the wind,
a velvet breeze, a tempest storm,
an aspen whisper with dancing leaves,
a might oak, its roots no more.
Then wait.
All lays at rest, still.
The flicker of a single leaf.
Perfect peace.
Listen.
Who can know the ways of the wind?
Who can know its coming?
Who can know its going?
I hear the rustling,
Carried on the wings of a dove.
Listen.
I see the swaying,
Moved by the breath of angels.
I startle to the crack of a fallen giant,
Felled by the roar of the Lion.
Listen.
Listen.
"The wind blows where it wishes and you hear the sound of it, but do not know where it comes from and where it is going; so is everyone who is born of the Spirit." - John 3:8