The Quiet Insistence of Your Word | Alma Hamilton

What I notice most about this place is the wind, veering and backing into my corner, eddying, gusting, niggling, tangling hair, finding the contours of my face with icy fingers. Yesterday I had a place in the sun. It’s easy to pray with silences, warm light, and seabirds calling. Today is hard. I…

Tue, 16 Feb 2016

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What I notice most about this place
is the wind, veering and backing
into my corner, eddying,
gusting, niggling,
tangling hair, finding the contours of my face
with icy fingers.

Yesterday I had a place in the sun.
It’s easy to pray with silences,
warm light, and seabirds calling.

Today is hard. I pull my collar up,
and draw my fingers, monk-like,
into my sleeves. The wind
buffets my ears, so I no longer
hear your voice in the song of the magpie,
the flutter of small birds.

Lord, do not let this north-east wind,
or any other, deafen me
to the still, small voice,
the quiet insistence of your word.