Heather Kelly of Invercargill sent me a poem. It is a Pentecost poem and it is set in the winter season in which Pentecost comes in the Southern hemisphere. It called to me today — a day when I saw the first red leaf in my yard in New Hampshire in the Northern Hemisphere in spite the the beauty of summer all around to remind me — Pentecost is not a single day with a birthday cake for the church, everyone wearing read, the passing of the peace in six languages. Pentecost goes on and one, beautifully unfolding, dangerously inciting, and naming hope and justice and salvation.
And it helps me ask myself … am I counting leaves? … am I delighting in sunlight? … am I missing waterfalls? … am I letting Pentecost happen without me?
Horizontal rain driven by westerly gales.
Two leaves cling grimly to my tree,
last evening there were five.
A waterfall has been created from the pool
where the trunk merges into boughs;
seven years and I have never spotted the
waterfall before! Wow.
Looking out into the garden while I listen
to my brief Pentecostal devotional,
I delight in sunlight sparkling like diamonds
on the oak tree,
realising that all the God given words were
contained in that vision.
Truly the Spirit dances in Creation;
in each loving encounter, however fleeting.
Heather Kelly, Invercargill, June 2019