Oh Lord, I thank you for the wild winds

that seem to speak the language of my heart—

my native tongue before the English words

were pinned to almost everything. They speak—

the gusts—the bursts of joy—in every rush.

They tell the lifeless leaves to dance the streets,

and so they do! They speak of You, Creator-God,

and the pleasure You have made us for.

Hear the wonder in their whispers lift

to jubilation in their roaring shouts!

Your heart and mine rejoice in the sound of praise

swelling from Your works. The weariest

may be revived in the thoughts they speak of You.