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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Sunday morning time for sabbath sacraments. He steps into gusty wind, some fat splatter sweeps of raindrops fall across his porch roof on down through roaring river valley, forceful push, then ebb February wind storm raining down warm wet, a wondrous primal pair he adores. Neighbor birds start their liturgical dance and ritual songs of regeneration without him. Already flying quick floating dives into drama time, singing back to Brother Wind howling on his way. Calling, chanting cantors, conjoin swelling sacred anti-gravity songs co-arising blissful sweeping sound, grace filling atmosphere swirls time-rich sacred rites across his house-bound skin. Sound of incense sweeps down river, north to south with warmer hopes and natural wealth intentions, reminding him Time for political baptism. She incants from the bathtub in short gusts of heated chaotic blast conjoining his internal gospel choir, Chirps her dissonant descant challenging and prophesying and occupying in full-voiced roar of need as want right now, seldom bothering with peaceful please, much less thanks for caring as best he can to hear her risky rhythms, irritating flows of hard-blown breath with drenching attitude. Storm and brew birds cheer rage in her brain shouting at co-arising buoyancy to blow another way within her sacred bathtime universal liturgy. Her way, the only way she can imagine to function in a reverse and upside down political world of unheard powerlessness above water when she can find fine faith her loud-voiced demands to turn life around may be heard spinning this slippery wind of Earth to blow in her right sacred way. Baptism completes this wind drenched requiem for full-life thrival against mere anti-death survival cooperating this week's regenerate vocational intent and political windstorm practice. She joins her dad for one last look through jaundiced droopy eye at drenching rain that could fly back from whence it came if only wiser timed to start this sabbath day. Birds now pray their benedictions quietly in wind-protected nests while he listens to swollen postlude protest against earthy agitating time, uprooting old gnarled systems decayed for newer holistic use as compost fades into swaying trees flown back to join upriver's grace of windblown time, and forth to rejoin downstream's centerous roots through purging winter's decomposing dance. He closes his door to time's external grace to watch a smile warmly cross her chronic face like a gust of refreshing wind through a rainy karmic life.
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