The Holy Wind (A Short Story)

On December 21st, the first day of winter, my wife and I prayed in our cabin. We warmed each other in our embrace and under wool blankets.  We needed nothing and wanted nothing.  In love with God and each other, we worshipped.  As my wife prayed, praising God, I felt a strong breeze caress my hair.  "But the windows are closed," I thought.  And even if they had been opened, the air was frigid, but not windy.  Jill raised her bowed head and opened her eyes wide.  "Marcus, did you feel that?"  Her honey deep voice sounded thrilled, excited and afraid.  "Feel what?"  "I felt air blow through my hair."  "Yes, I did feel it.  I thought I imagined it."  The breeze filled the room, yet the fire blazed unmoved in the fire place.  From behind us, then in front of us, air flowed; inhale, exhale.  We heard each other breathing, and we heard The Breath of Someone Else in our room.  We both bowed and remained silent, prostrating ourselves before The Lifegiver.  Our breathing joined His, and we honored His breath as the source of our own.