I remembered that I wrote about wind (at Plow Creek) a year ago:
On the way back we stopped at Plow Creek farm and spent the night. We saw old friends (and new baby Elaina), were welcomed warmly, and Heather and Miranda even got to ride the horses. Then yesterday morning I sat outside as the sun was rising and listened. It was very quiet. Only the wind was moving, and as it stirred the trees it felt very familiar and comforting to me. I don't know if it was the feeling of God in nature, or the symbolism of the Spirit, but I rejoiced in it and at the same time respected it deeply. And I thought, this is the source of my identity and at-home-ness much more than any human organization or culture.