Scattered thoughts fall all around,
like leaves coming down from the trees.
Softly floating falling in disarray
with no path to follow.
Caught on the whim of the wind
they blow where they may.
Leading down many paths
gliding on their way
To the soft earth they land
dead, brown, dying still.
In their blowing and path of
flight can you note the rest?
The leap of faith made to the wind
that catches and buffets them in wild abandon.
In a flight path with no meaning except to pass
it on to the earth where in dying it gives life.
Can we make these leaps of faith falling?
To be blown by Spirit that indwells
intending to land us on solid ground
where one thing dies and is born in something new.
Developing new patterns through the
midst of a confusing free fall.
Oh, but to let go and be taken on the wind.
Floating confusingly lightly on the wings of current.
Toward the ground of new possibilities born
on the flight down, to be able to let go in
free fall is faith. Do we have enough
to let go and fall to ground.