Freshening Winds, hollers from past wound intent on disrupting the power of the present with the impotency of things gone bye. I dusted the hair from her cheek with a sweep of my thumb, then gripping the steering wheel with renewed vigor, I said, “Where to next”. In the folly of our escape from time’s constraining minute hands, we had determined to finish whatever we started before jointly moving on. Having spent hours walking the streets in prayer the Lord called us onward to provoke the next movement in His powerful intercession. My fellow catalyst and I tasted that freshening breeze for the Father’s small quiet voice and heard nothing but the wind scratching the branch across my side mirror. Wait it is, the resounding rule for times when God has not yet given direction. Time to find a good quiet spot and patiently live while waiting for whisper.