On the Holy Breath of Wind

The seed, carried in hands, hearts, 

or on the holy breath of wind,

drifts…

falls casually 

in unrecognized perfection

to where the measure of the sun to shade,

of dry to wet,

of promise to past

or scar to hope,

seems hopeless.

Yet there underneath something grows,

outside the rows of the planned for.

God keep me mindful

of a mind beyond my own.

Lead me not into my own landscaping

but waken me please,

to the exquisite, elegant weed.

–opening poem by Renee Mackenzie, chosen and read by Amy W.

— Photos by Nancy L.