Poem for a Tuesday — “A Wind from God” by Joann White

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. — Genesis 1:1

There comes a point

in every climb when

the need for breath

and the ache of

legs push aside every

unneeded thought.  There is

no room for the

church I carry, the

mistakes I’ve made, the

lies I’ve told, the

truth I cannot speak,

the years of too

little love, the children

I never had, the

future I fear. Emptied,

I simply am rocks

beneath boots, snow reaching

down from Meall Liath,

lambs suckling with wagging

tails, the fairy mountain

hidden by mist, the

shielings of my ancestors,

red deer watching wary,

oily water oozing from

yards-deep peat. God breathes

in me and I

am recreated, a new

Eve, utterly insignificantly at

home in the web

that has been woven.

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This is the second poem in a series that I wrote in response to Kore-ada Hirokazu’s stunning film after life. It explores the memory that I might choose to live in for eternity, a day of rough hill walking through the heart of Scotland and over the shoulder of Schiehallion. This poem responds to the question, “When did you best know your place amid creation?” I’ll share the subsequent poems on the next two Tuesdays.

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