UNSEEN FORCE

The cold breeze on my face. Treetops whooping it up. The wild swoosh of wind. The first bolt of lightning and crackle of thunder… My dad remembers several feet of snow - a wall of solid white. He measures himself alongside Buffalo. Mine is the excitement of a storm, I can feel it, even as I upswing. I might fly, like Dorothy, or on the witch’s stolen broomstick, or on the wings of the tornadic sky. Fascination found in the rush, the power of an unseen force. The Holy Spirit thrives inside of me. It’s a firestorm of spiritual vivacity.