Howling through the lightless sky and
Tearing leaves off trees,
Then running over rooftops high
Is my dear Winterbreeze.

Her elbow rattles windows while
She blows on chimes with glee;
Her tresses over treetops drag,
Resounding like the sea.

Oh what a hubbub now she makes;
She's surely fierce tonight.
I cannot tell if "rattle-bang"
Means anger or delight.

'Why, Winterbreeze, you bend the trees;
Your breath shakes buildings too.
A temper tantrum? At your age?
Please tell me that's not true!

I ask you, dear, have mercy on
The homeless in the streets.
Please spare those men and women who
Sleep shiv'ring with no sheets.

And if you can, don't strip down bare
The trees with starlet leaves;
They make me glad when 'twixt their
Scarlet stars the sunlight weaves.

So goodbye now, I'm off to bed.
I wonder when you'll cease?
I hope on waking up I find
This place still in one piece!'

He gives me strength
To live each day
Though things remain unchanged.

Each prayer, my tiniest step
Towards the plans
He has arranged.

My questions though
Unanswered are what turns
My face to He

Who doesn't speak
Nor removes the pain
But weeps instead with me.

Lord, to your tender,
Loving care, and will
For me to live

I say "Thank You"
And "Amen";
Your promises I will believe.

Snippets of conversations I overheard as I walked through campus a few weeks ago:

"Dude, wouldn't it be fun? Let's nail him on the cross."

"I got ninety-nine percent and he tried to give me a D."

"I clean the sink one night, and the toilet the next night."

"All the Units are gross."

It's interesting to try to figure out the basis of those conversations from the little bits I hear as I walk past them. Makes me wonder how close my conclusions come to the real reasons.

Do not feed the monster inside of you.

Tending to your garden is a duty: rip out the weeds, sow good seeds, and hope that the Wind will come help your garden grow. The fruit of the Spirit are the fruit that only the Spirit can make grow.

God of our life,
there are days when the burdens we carry
chafe our shoulders and weigh us down,
when the road seems dreary and endless,
the skies gray and threatening;
when our lives have no music in them,
and our hearts are lonely,
and our souls have lost their courage.
Flood the path with light,
run our eyes to where
the skies are full of promise;
tune our hearts to brave music;
give us the sense of comradeship
with heroes and saints of every age;
and so quicken our spirits
that we may be able to encourage
the souls of all who journey with us
on the road of life, to your glory and honor.

-- Augustine