Habakkuk 1:5

Look at the nations and watch—

    and be utterly amazed.
For I am going to do something in your days
    that you would not believe,
    even if you were told.

Lord, here in these woods—

these lovely, but dark

and oh so very deep woods—*

the mosquitoes dance

together, forming clouds

that buzz and hum with

a bloodlust battle cry.

The spiders drape their webs

over the bridge to dry

in the peeks of sun that find

their way through the canopy.

The air is heavy,

pregnant and swollen

with the promise of rain.

The air is both heavy and thin, Lord.

The veil between this world

and Yours has worn thin and soft;

it is almost see-through now

and I can feel—not quite see—

but feel Your presence now, here,

Lord in every living thing.

And You are doing something.

You are doing something new

that I am present for as You work,

as You sing Your own song of creation.

Winter is over.

Spring has fled.

And summer is here.

There is life.

Where once there was darkness

and nothing but gray and brown

shadows instead of trees,

where once there was silence

and mourning and fear that made

it impossible to breathe, now there

is an explosion of life,

of rich, green things

that grow so fast, I can feel

them creep over my feet

if I stand still for too long.

You are doing something amazing, Lord.

You are always doing something amazing.

And it feeds my soul to simply watch You at work.

Amen.

*Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening