I cannot see a storm approach at night.
When the wind grows mysterious, tremulous and scattered,
my thoughts will match it.
My thoughts will carry it out to the end;
till I reach the conclusion that all things...
all things are in Him and through Him and by Him.
Praise the Living God; my very breath.
Praise the Hands that hold the meaning of all beauty: of every word.
The exhalations of the wind--
the sigh of God; the sigh before the breath before the song begins.
I have to stop and breathe the deep smell of rain.
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