Good Friday Poem

March 21, 2008. Good Friday. On my annual walk through Hanson Pines.

The Calling Wind

Bright sun glares on the whiteness
of the snows that still blanket the land.
Beneath the cold blue of the wintry sky
the wild winds whip through the mighty trees,
and a loudness roars and fills the ears.
Under the bridge the brim-full river runs,
pushing with power in its ever seaward flow,
glutted with the springtime rains and thaws,
crashing madly on the rocks beneath the city's dams,
threatening to repeat the havoc of the last year's flood.
There I walk, remembering things of long ago,
yet things I witness, touch, and taste each day
that Mass is offered on the altar of the church,
and those that come are taken to that Holy Cross,
and stand with Him who died that they might live,
the very Food that feeds to everlasting life;
and, as I walk and say my prayers and sit and write,
I hear the rushing mighty wind above my head,
and in its awesome rush of sound I hear
the Voice of God say, "Come."

---------ed pacht