Written after watching a brief, mid-afternoon thunderstorm on Pike’s Peake. After it was over, the sun through the clouds and on the wet pavement was blindingly bright. The third-to-last line is inspired by C. S. Lewis’ Till We Have Faces.
Your hand descends upon the mountain,
It is ravaged by Your glory.
Light screams into the sky;
We cast away our eyes.
This shroud makes the roots of majesties and men tremble.
Why are we surprised by a perfection that blinds?
Should we not expect holiness to consume,
Like lamb on altar
Or the lover who is destroyer too?
How frail mortality reveals itself to be when
Your hand descends upon the mountain.