The Wait

Again He came.  And again I was waiting. This wait never seemed to end. Every time he came, my mind filled with hope and anxiety. Something within me would hold on to the last branch never letting go, like the last leaf of autumn. Through all the hope, anxiety and pain my soul  would be dancing and prancing around like the gazelle in the Book of Songs. Springing around through an unseen  pasture happy to have found new freedom. There was this joy which I acknowledged and subdued yet which for the sheer intensity  of it seemed to scream out its presence.