The spring is in the air, still imperceptible, like a subtle smile, like a fresh young voice barely audible above the buzz of the crowd.
We don’t know what we’re asking for, but the Spirit himself pleads for us silently, in a breath which has yet to find the right words, as the soul finding the body.
The voice of the Spirit is heard from afar, a song with only scraps guessed: the time has come to heal the brokenhearted, to set free the oppressed, to return sight to the blind.
Just as mountains rise on the horizon at a sudden turn of the road, so too a time comes in life when the hidden becomes manifest.
First published on Steemit