As I sat tonight, upon wrought-iron, rocking throne, I sipped my beer from a vessel tall, and calmed my dog on the coming storm.
Weird night it was, and pleasent somehow.
Wild winds blew, (and from that place, I do not like).
So many nights I have lived in this wild. I've come to know the passing storms, as neighbors...as friends.
But in this sky, windy, bright...brilliant blue...upon high there lay a cloud so long, fathoming couldn't measure it there, no imagining could guess at its brilliant volume.
"A poet would."
But no poet to be found.
I thought to myself, "here is a vapor, cloud so high; and in its belly a darkenss that is the shadow of its own self. Vaporous moisture, this cloud on high, and its very substance defined by a shadow of its own self. Billowy white, yet full of water, and casting dark, upon dark itself".
But the beauty here, was in that sky. For across a full five times its length, a shadow even greater was cast against? Blue sky!
Shadow upon shadow, dark against space - willowy whisp upon whisp...and a mighty wind their so forceful on the face.
God moves in these elements.
How like them He is.
He can cast shadows against blue sky and dark. He can make forboding shadow of vaporous nothing...nothing, yet so substantial to the soul, and like the cloud (vapor itself).
While I can not touch Him, I know He is there.
An engima bound in a shadow against a shadow, in a whisp, a mighty wind is born, and substance istself is removed from its path, and by muscle not of this earth born.