I open my eyes and wonder what
Words await while the sound of
rain on the porch roof catches me
by surprise.

Listen, wait, putter, putz.

The open umbrella left to dry
billows like a chest taking in air.
I inhale, exhaling as the truck
idles beside the sidewalk out front.

I inhale again as a car engine revs.

Wind picks up the umbrella—a giant
blue moon rising from the horizon. It
lands with a thud. I know it could blow away
but prefer it open, like the books balancing in my lap.

It is as simple as breath in, breath out,

This coming into His Presence, as natural
as the light returning each morning.
When was it more complicated, and why?
From near or far away, His whispers land

On ears, soothing not accusing.

His breath enters
into opened up lives, leaving impressions
both infinite and intimate.
Expounding, inflating—these lilting, lasting

Inhalations mixed with exultations. Every

moment becomes worship when
prefaced with praise.
I hold up my hand, stretching my fingers,
and for that moment, marvel at what it can

Accomplish in one day, even with arthritis.

A rock of resilience or tender surrender,
with it I will become quenched and sated.
How profoundly purposeful and inordinately
overlooked are the simplest and grandest

Things of life.

The wind swoops up the umbrella, it
dives off the railing, rising and falling again
and again before it is rescued by the Tree.
I suppose I will always be a little like a big blue

Umbrella on a rainy, windy day.

In Memory of my dad, Bill.
Feb 9, 1929 – June 16, 2016

Feature photo: Christopher Dutour, Unsplash