The Whisper of God

I sense a need to travel
to Loggerhead
and sit alone with only
my book to read
of post civil war-time folktales.
I sit here on a bench,
a donation of two strangers,
their names engraved on it.
I watch what seems to be
an angry ocean with a strong wind,
forcing the waves to crash the shoreline.
I find it strange at noon
the beach so desolate except
for a few sandpipers running about
on what is left of the sand.
I see the beach being washed away,
with every wave the shoreline eroding
but even in its midst,
pelicans fly by me, never alone
a group of five, then two.
The sight leaves me in awe
A flock of pigeons, ten in all
land in unison, in V formation.
Passersby greet me, and I them.
They all come in single file.
The last one came on a three wheel bike
with his cane in tow and a camera.
We talk and he tells me of his sorrows
and how an accident left him many years ago
unable to walk as he wished he could
a brain injury, no fault of his own,
and how the days are long
except for the taking of pictures
of birds sometimes from the pier.
I hear in his voice helplessness,
like the beach might feel
at the loss of its sand.
I listen and offer a word of hope.
It is at this moment
I hear the whisper of God,
and a mourning dove comes to rest
on a vine nearby.
A Bible verse comes to mind
of a healing at a pool.
I share of God's love for all, and
in this moment all nature is silent,
the waves have now hushed.
The young man gathers himself up
to leave, but this time he smiles
as he struggles to reach his bike.
I see the waves crash the shoreline
and the birds begin to fly, but mostly
a sense of calm, not there before.
I bow my head to pray
my soul is at peace once again.

Heartstrings Two, Copyright © 2008 by Library of Congress