[at-l] Whispers Of Rest

[hopefl@juno.com]

Whispers Of Rest

Climbing and climbing as I hiked, I strained to scale the late summer
sky. All the while the eager, rustling  wind cheered and heartened and
urged me onward. In the sparse spruces and balsams the wind at last
pushed on my back. Relentless as my bounding heart and throbbing legs,
the gusty breath  stirred me on to the top of the bald and the end of my
day.

With heavy thud and lazy roll, my pack  rested on the zenith. And with
stiff groans, I sat down on sun warm rock to watch heaven turn pink, then
gray and purple, then darker purple yet. The kind twilight winds blew,
gently  drying  my face and soothing my fevered back and shoulders. The 
raucous gusts now lay soft on the land. In the battle for the heights,
branches and grasses had waved and swayed as they pointed me to the top,
as if  encouraging a runner toward the goal. Leaning over  invisible
barricades, they leaned and waved to sweep me ever higher, shouting with
God's own breath!

Blue turns to purple, sun yields to stars and the shouting gusts now
murmur and whisper. Alders turn black, spruces turn to ink and the skies
to diamonds and indigo. Bathed in warmth I lay down. With the warmth of a
mother, the chilling winds tuck me into my bag. Now, how the breezes
transform! Like a mother's lullaby,  soft, now softer, low, now lower
still, the music of rest changes rhythm and time as my eye lids blink and
bob. As the dreamy stars bid me join them far from labor, the sighing
wind whispers, "Rest,  rest."   

Hopeful
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