Burning Bush

I saw God in a burning bush: the wind licked scarlet flames into motion; an upward draft of spirit churned orange billows of smoke into the fire’s mouth. God’s limbs were an outline within the roar, a presence giving shape to the conflagaration, a body controlling the fury of the flames. As I watched, thrown sparks ignited nearby trees, curling their leaves with singed color–yellow, russet–until the fire had spread across my vision, until nothing remained but fire before my eyes. God’s glory blazed through the woods, and autumn was his speech.

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