PENTECOST
As the wind
whipped away the last dry leaves
from the branches of the vine
and the fire
sealed the scars that still remained
from the cutting of old wood
suddenly spring
and the promised time had come
with a winter's waiting over.
In one moment
the summer's growth unfolded
to instant autumn ripeness.
In abundance
fruit was tumbling from the tree
spilling life and blood-red juice -
the new wine
that releases tongues of praise.
Michael Bartholomew-Biggs (first appeared in Acumen, October 1994)
These posts are by guest authors for Fulcrum