He

To my husband, who is love to me every day, who is the fire and air and water around me, the moon in the dark and the sun when it’s cold, the living fulfillment of God’s promises to me, the beat of my heart.

I am the changing leaves in autumn, and
he is the air I fall through,
the ground that catches me.
After the wind has felled me,
he is the boy raking the pieces of me
back together.

I am a bud that won’t bloom.
He is the ripe morning sun,
warming and coaxing me into life and beauty.

He is crisp winter air.
I am a snowdrift.
If I am melting snow,
he is the salt.

He is a rainstorm
after scorching heat in summer.
If he is a flash of lightning,
I am the rolling thunder that follows him.

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