Wind in the Willows — well birches

Late yesterday I took a stroll behind the cabin in Maine where we were spending the 4th of July with my husband’s family. “The wind in the willows” ran through my mind, until I had to go and give them their proper names…

The wind in the willows – except they’re not
They are birches and yellow woods and pines
There’s barely a sound beyond the cry of the loons
as the breeze ruffles the ferns, the birch leaves tremble
And a small spring meanders through the underbrush

Perhaps this is the still, quiet voice that Elijah heard
after the fire, after the earthquake, after the storm

Be still
know
I AM
God

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