The air is heavy, hot, close signaling what is to come
light flashes through the sky turning the darkness bright
wind starts rushing in short spurts, then blows hard
Changing the sky as it takes loose things
Making them fly and toss, the power of the
wind, storm showing our powerlessness
Against its might. All we can do is wait inside
As we hear things hit and bounce, then quiet
Another miss and we go back to our lives
Then again it comes and stirs up,
Raising us from sleep, we collapse tired
in the hall on the floor.
I am attracted to the beauty of the sky
As it flashes and burns, I am concerned
by the blowing of the wind and its power.
I listen for signs of our own destruction
I wonder at people who have gone through it.
I think of my brothers and sisters far away
who have gone through another storm called war.
How they are powerless against where it blows.
How they still reach out and help others who have
Been blown to their village in fear and looking for safety.
Having lost it all in the violence that surrounds them.
How cut off we are from communicating well.
Do they know our prayers for them?
Our wanderings when we face powerlessness,
the threat of losing it all as the sirens blow their warnings.
So we pray because we are brought to the brink
Of identity, of loss, of realizing our own finiteness
We pray in the hall as we hide and wait
Just as they hid for days in wait for the storm
of hate to pass. We lift up the unknown concerns
for food, for well-being, for continued safety.
Grounding it in the hope of the storms passing,
of finding new ways to forgive and live in peace.
Praying for it to rain down and wash a hurting land.