The scattered claps

of a grateful creation

go round and round

with the wind.

 

You did it again,

Father.

That season of bounty

of green,

of growing

and then

when all that’s left

are the seeds

of the future,

and the crisp

clapping leaves,

applauding “Well done,”

then it’s time. 

Time to fold our hands,

to breathe,

to let go

with creation

as she

takes a sabbath

and falls

to her rest.

Take comfort

In the cycle,

That rotates

Our calendars

And accept the seasons

As they come.

 

Know the designer

hasn’t yet failed us

and that

purpose is laden

in each alteration.

 

 

There is a guarantee in there.

That growth and light,

And rest and darkness,

They were all,

And are all

 called

“Good.”

 

 

The wind

shakes the hands

and they scatter

to the earth.

 

 

Here we rest,

with them,

and here we breath,

“It is good”

with His most grateful

Creation.