It is a muggy summer day, Overcast. The first of August.   I walk into the overgrown grass which I don’t feel like mowing to pick flowers, which feels therapeutic. A song about being still in the presence of God floats through my mind.   First trip: long cuts of black-eyed susans. Inside to trim and drop them into a canning jar. Mom is so good at arranging them, but I’m not. She also loves canning jars, will have many bouquets like this around her house by now.   Back out for the large pom-pom zinnias, light and dark pink. Pale yellow. I planted these in spring when Mom and Dad were...

Here there isn’t much. Nothing but deep and wild stands of thick trees   and the lake.   Between the bird voices, cicadas. Crickets. Between the hum of nightfall, stars.   Sparkles over the dark water, fire or light of some warmth.   Here there isn’t much. A cool breeze on a high deck. The absence of clutter or places to go. And chores.   Here there is everything the soul desires. The clock stripped of its face and the only things not left behind.    ...

green and blue vista, a spring-drenched waterfall rushing toward me the golden-white clouds bowing ahead   and I run   sidewalk moving under my feet breath flowing in and out steady sky coming toward me   evening’s light glowing like gold through the clear waters of a creek inviting me onward   and then the pale-lipped honeysuckle— suddenly, and early in the season— comes upon me   its fragrance catching me off guard and I gulp forward seeking the scent pockets in the folds of the erratic wind its wall of white ruffles bounce softly alongside me for a brief moment   the...

I rain my prayers on this dry ground I trample the dust with my feet—feet prepared with peace, fierce peace that refuses to be broken by the rocks of drought   I drench these fallow fields with desperation I plough their difficult depths with determined trust   I guard the faith planted long ago I hold the light of changeless ageless truth to the soil   And no matter how long it takes for the promise to be fulfilled   I wait actively joyfully hopefully steadfast and sure until the parched ground bursts with unthinkable life    ...

welcome winter to the four corners of the yard pushing brown leaves against the fence   let it embrace the open-handed branches of the trees let it steal over the earth like early evening, drawing everyone indoors   welcome its cooling touch to the rooms at the back of the house facing sunset   feel it breathe through the old windows feel it hover in the doorways and in the backs of cabinets   welcome winter in the color of the stars against a moonless night   let it raise a still and quiet canopy over our restless souls.  ...