One day, windy in mid-autumn,
the bush was wild in flail of fall.
Dead leaves sacrificed to drought
skittered and whirled across the road,
and hills were blurred with dust and smoke.
I felt the threat and promise of change
in ragged clouds and restless wind.
Old farmers here say season break
comes after Anzac Day, memorial
to the cost and tragedy of war.
This time we know new floods of tears
and anger flow for the Ukraine,
as brutal power, immune to human pain,
is causing blood to soak the earth again.
The workers may have paused for Easter break,
but did they recognize Christ’s pain and promise,
or look for signs of fresh growth after storms,
as green shoots rise among the littered leaves?
Here farmers sowed in hopes of inundation,
and we have sung the songs of resurrection.
O let the Spirit come and shake the walls,
and lend us tongues of fire to stir the nations.
Barbara Messner 7/05/2022
One thought on “Season Break”
And lend us tongues of fire! Yes.