by Mark Weinrich

Like Moses, I turned aside
the forest floor and canopy aflame,
a sanctuary—glowing gold,
flashing like a cherub’s sword.
I stepped silently
then stooped to remove my shoes.

But would God speak
through this burning grove?
I lingered till I heard His voice,
not audibly, but visibly—
tracks of maple leaves 
like drops of blood.
Christ’s death rent the veil in two
that I might enter fearlessly
and boldly into His Holy Place.

Mark Weinrich lives a creative life as a writer, photographer, musician, and artist—all wrapped together in an outdoorsman. He is a retired pastor and nine-year cancer survivor. His writing and photography have appeared in over 139 news stand, inspirational, and literary publications. He has sold eight children’s books and currently has two fantasy novels on Kindle.