A Narrative Poem for October

The Cross in the Clouds

After a summer of record temperatures,
the fifty-three degree fall chill surrounds me
as I step out the door, clad in my green jacket.

Once again I worry about our financial future
as I adjust the volume on the local NPR radio station
and prepare for my three mile morning stroll by the riverside.

They are interviewing people who have been struggling to pay their
bills during the Great Recession that has plagued us for the past two years.

The recession has been a brute for us as well with its constant devouring
of our savings and annuity payments—a set of tires here,
a new icemaker there, or a number of replacement balusters
for the repair of the deck—all serve to dampen my spirits.

I see before me the Halloween decorations in practically every yard I pass—
the numerous hay bales holding a variety of colorful mums in pots,
dancing skeletons, bright orange pumpkins, and spooky houses with
bats flying around them as if to frighten and menace us all.

I turn the corner and see the low-hanging fog over the mountains to the South;
It appears that the usual trees and radio towers have completely
disappeared magically, but then--I see it in the distance above the clouds:
It appears to be a white cross suspended in the sky with absolutely no support
underneath it. Could it be a sign of God’s faithfulness for the future?
His invisible Hand holding all of us so calmly and gracefully.