A trace within a shadow

As I walk through the autumn woods, the storm gathers. The wind whips the tall firs, snapping small branches high above me and showering down needles that catch in my hair. The air crackles with electricity. I smell the ozone, like clothing pulled warm from the dryer. There is no rain, but clouds darken the firmament. The path ahead is but a trace within a shadow. My pace slackens. I stop. My pulse races, my fingertips tingle, my breathing is quick and shallow—and then I close my eyes and the darkness is complete. I am in the maelstrom, yet my heart is still. I hear God talk. I am fully present, alive in a place animated by his spirit. I listen.