Timbers stretch their aging arms across the cracking cement, aching to hold the hands of friends while shaking with lament Separated by man-made roads where people pass all day long Forever driving straight ahead and singing to the radio’s song
Few people notice the old trees that line the street, Few people notice where limbs meet mid air But the ones with good eyes are incandescent and rare
They see the story that is one of their own, separated by earthly things from their one true home The saints reach their hands up to heaven just as the trees reach across the road, hearing the voice of the Beloved beckon, urging us to remember our promised abode
He says”Look to the trees dear one, follow their lead, forever closing the gap and I will forever supply what you need”
And just like the wind blows and the tree limbs brush for just a moments time, God breathes out like the wind and I feel His hand in mine.