Thoughts

 Listening to God

 

I sat on a bench in the park,

Alone,

 

But God was there.

 

My fingers clasped,

I listened to the wild breeze and the whispering birds.

 

The cool air hung with cool collectiveness all around me,

Hovering there with stillness, saying:

 

‘God is there.’

 

Not like the time we played tennis in the park one evening,

When it was silent;

The air hot, humid.

Each effort smothered by stifling heat.

 

But God was there,

Also.

 

The silence that sang out with fortissimo-‘God is there.’

© HEATHER GRAY 1998