The leaves whistle change; no longer burning, the air sings a softer tune, and I wander in the evening street attuned to change, yet stuck within the day's exhaustion, mind empty, spirit vacant. I lift my arms to walk, to pray, the day ahead uncertain, silent - cooler, but still not within my arms' reach. You, my God, must - if You know the movement of the breeze, the hows and whys of trees - also know the temperature of tomorrow, the pressure of the air, the way my spirit will rise or fall or flow. Be still, my soul; the Lord is on your side. The day lifts up its arms in prayer; the curtain of the night unveils the stars in praise.