by W. Robert Boyd
What serenity in tiny baby breaths, like the rhythm of a night breeze flowing through dangling feathered branches of a willow. God the Father’s breath on the waiting world. Pure and unblemished, a soul clean and white, almost seen through blue gray orbs delighting in the new and cooing in marveled reverence, tiny shocks of sensory overload. Enormous wonder in tiny reaching hands to coil and grasp for a touch of the awing splendors of rainbow hues and flashing light. A chortle and whisper to punctuate. God shows us his glory and miracle in chubby cherubic cheeks of gladness. My love, like an apple, bright red and bursting with sweetest nectar flowed out in tears of joy. A droplet of water to surprise and shake, conjure a furrow of crushing discord. To steal the moment of our blissful calm and replace it with sharpest shaking quakes. Though the calm has been broken asunder it can be brought back from the toppling brink with a soft knowing agreeable nod, and the caring caress of the father.
W. Robert Boyd is a disabled vet who has recently rediscovered the Lord. He is excited about the ways God has been affecting his family and himself, his relationships and his ability to write again. He is active in his church and the local Christian Writers Group.