Forcing frozen pellets from the clouds,
the wind fiercely proclaims its power.
Winged and footed creatures flee
for protection from its path.
Nothing escapes the demanding onslaught.
All living things run or hide or bend or break
before such aggression.
After the violence a silent stillness
displays a landscape covered in crystal and white
and breath becomes visible in the cold.
Quiet stillness in which the ruach,
the very Spirit of God —
breathes my name.
(See also Fall/Fire)