The wind of your Spirit howls at the world and threatens our complacency. I watch the sycamores bend before you; the traffic light poles bounce and quiver; litter dances on the highway; people scurry for shelter with coats held tightly against the blustery Spirit that seeks to undo us all. We are fools to think that we can stand before you, childish if we do not see that nothing is stable or safe when you are stirred up. I want to pray, “Yes! Uproot us and topple us by the force of your breath…but please leave me my coat,” but I suspect that I cannot have it both ways. Blow, Spirit, blow! Come and turn us around!