Leaning on the Stars

Writers are strange creatures. Who can explain the impulse to write or tell when it will come–or worse–when it will go?

We are leaving for the airport in about 20 minutes, and this poem came to my mind. It would be so easy to skip this trip, to enjoy the first of the holidays and cozy warmth of home, friends, and family. But it is the deep love of my Beloved that urges me on. 

Leaning on the Stars

Rising from the fog,

pulled upward by Your

dazzling wake of light,

above the cool garden,

above the wet, morning grass

and weeping willows,

majestically soaring over ancient oaks

and waving heads of golden grain,

I am anchored in the clouds–

leaning on the stars You named,

falling into Your strong arms of love–

I am captivated for eternity,

when I breath, breath Your Name.