upon the burial of W.D. Jordan
beloved grandfather
The wind in the pines
begins a whisper,
a hushed refrain, the murmuring hymn
of an age-old tune -
Creation's song with muted words
proclaims;
from dawn of time to dusk,
from rising and the setting sun,
familiar chorus echoes through
the trees:
life waits to be made new,
renewed,
yearning, striving, aching, pining;
Already-not yet, whole.
Anticipating greater winds,
the movement grows,
as breezes blow,
bending stubborn branches,
unveiling whence the true Light
shines.
Inspiring, showing, glowing,
brushing back the dark, and
Drawing brightened gazes higher,
Lifting up, still lifted to the
clear and open skies, arise -
Soon no more tears, nor sighs.
Until with shout triumphant,
blasts the heavenly gate
of unearthly choirs,
fills the reborn firmament,
bends the hearts, the heads, the knees
of men.
And raises up the dead in Him
alive with life unending,
Life!
No longer bent and broken,
rushed, pushed, prodded,
tossed, twisted, turn, then -
in a moment changed.
The wind in the pines
reminds
of Resurrection coming.
Link to story about crosses and pine trees (esp loblolly & longleaf )
