As I sit in the car
My eye is caught by the flutter
Of a torn piece of insulating tape
At the back of an air conditioner,
Like the wing of a trapped bird
Beating frantically for freedom.
The sky is a mass of ash colored clouds,
The dust raised from the battle boots of battalions of angels,
Marching to war.
Bare branched trees
Stretch and sway against the smoky sky.
(strangely reminiscent of peacock crests)
Whip in the freshening breeze.
Lonely leaves dance across rain-soaked asphalt
As the few remaining golden holdouts,
Still clinging to their branchy homes,
Wave like Fairie war-banners.
The wind races up to a swifter speed.
My mind’s ear can hear the howl it hasn’t reached yet.
I can taste the copper tang of the lightning
Still held behind the clouds.
In the west, light from the unseen setting sun
Makes a mosaic where the clouds break.
I can feel change riding on the air.
It is certainly needed and
Is not really reality.
It’s how I perceive
Through the imperfect lenses of my own eyes,
The dusty filters of my own mind.
My world needs a sweeping out.
Change is coming,
A change in my perception,
A war in the heavenly realms
That will bring a different view of things,
A victorious view
(I’ve been defeated in my mind for far too long).
Victory is made meaningful in the fight for it.
I’m ready for this fight.