Echoes of the Valley

Echoes of the Valley 

Overnight. 

So it appeared. 

We are one 

With the river, 

The mountains,

The oak trees 

Where the sun 

Rises early, 

And for months 

All evidence of rain 

Has vanished. 

A far cry

From the lingering, 

Damp swamp air 

Of a southern summer, 

Where, oftentimes, 

The storms of June would march 

In her demanding tone, 

Never ending- 

So it felt. 

How long and enduring 

Is the labor 

Of the prayers, 

The pleas, 

The preparation 

From His children who sing 

Songs of hope, 

Of faith, 

Of praise, 

Of doubt, 

…even anger, 

Year after year 

In the unforgiving heat 

Of flat lands 

That roll for miles and miles. 

And still we sing

In the valley 

Of summer rain 

Until, 

Out of nowhere, 

And all at once - 

Or so it seemed- 

We are placed

Alongside the river,  

The morning light

Resting upon the mountains… 

The mountains 

That most certainly 

Did not form  

Overnight 

But took ages to rise.

And yet, 

Suddenly, 

Here they stand

With the river that hums 

A quiet reminder: 

Not one song 

From the valley 

Was wasted.