All's quiet on the Western front; but all is not at peace on the Midwestern homefront & homestead: instead, in bed, with visions of the pacific shore and packers scores dancing in my head, i rose from my bed to the clatter of mobile phone ringing a predawn wakeup call saturday from a neighbor right across the alley in whitefish bay to tell me that the "tree planted by streams rivers of water" (days of rain), longstanding home for squirrels evicted from our attic, raccoons and possums,and sentinel over our garage,decided to split (literally) in the rain and windstorm, and go to rest in pieces on our garage roof, power lines, and north neighboring fence,with its still-standing better half now leaning for a fall on our south neighbor's new garage (rockabye treetop, in the highwires:down came that baby, cradle and lines . . .and the wisconsin lineman is still on the line with insurance agents, contractor, tree surgeon, electrician, WE energizer and adjoining neighbors, north, south and west through the alley, as all rally in the most collective neighboring since our last block party) Even as i speak (and the wooden corpse squeaks its last gasp) our hired burglar is flipping melted brats from the unfreezer. Give us a singe, Lord, i pray, not execution by electrocution, as i hear the kicker of psalm 1 say:
"But the wicked are like the chaff that the wind drives away."
Meahwhile, back at the ranch, i ride a new paint purple integra, and the greatest danger is a filly who runs wild in the church.
Yours in the Great I Am,
Who is not in the wind or the tree,
He Who Is, Whirl Without End,
A Horseman of a Different Collar
Chaffing at the Bitin Horse Country,
watching out for a red, black or pale horse,
while calling (as i did in sunday's call to worship)
for a white horsewith the crowned rider
called Faithful and True, a New Jerusalem,a New Ramona,
and the Tree of Death removed
Tom Bentz, Rev. Dr.
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