Waiting

I walk into the tunnel of soaring pine and balsam,
their protection a shield against the cold chill coming off the sea.
Sudden relief from the wind comes like the reassurance of warm arms,
and I know my Father’s presence holds me.
Fresh morning smell of pine blends
with some other sweet autumn fragrance I cannot name.
High above, brittle leaves of birches
sing a morning psalm of eager expectation.
I wish I could understand their words.
But every now and then a slender golden leaf
drifts down like a note from the heavens:
“Just wait until you see My new earth!”

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