Grace was in the air, as the trees began to anticipate their movement in the symphony about to unfold. I had a front row seat with a friend on his second story balcony. The low rumbles began in the East, rolling West, followed in quick pursuit by lightening. And then it rained; rained hard.
The air changed. The electric particles zapped the pollen out of the air and washed yellow trails to the Bay of Fundy. The air changed, now charged with grace.
The patter of rain, the thunder in the distance the trees swaying and glistening-the air was relaxed. I was relaxed and at union with all that was, all that is, all that will be. I am at rest although not asleep, content -loved by and loving all of creation.
Grace. Through the storm, purified by water-communion.
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