There is an odd, but precious, stillness to this morning.
No lawn mower or chainsaw or hunting rifle.
No voices of campers across the pond.
No dogs barking. No cars passing. No planes overhead.
No trucks out on the highway even.
No sound at all really.
Except for me sipping tea on the front porch,
and the purr of the Whetstone cascading through the falls,
and the honey bees buzzing in the arugula flowers,
and the snake rustling through the leaves ahead of my step on the stone path to the shower,
and the birds in the cherry tree and the red maple and the pine.
“I wish I understood the beauty
You are the season of retirement,
Of full barns and harvested fields.
The cycle of growth has ceased,
And the busy work of giving life
Is now completed.
I sense in you no regrets:
You’ve lived a full life.
I live in a society that is ever-restless,
Always eager for more mountains to climb,
Seeking happiness through more and more possessions.
As a child of my culture,
I am seldom truly at peace with what I have.
Teach me to take stock of what I have given and received;
May I know that it’s enough,
That my striving can cease
In the abundance of God’s grace.
May I know the contentment
That allows the totality of my energies
To come full flower.
May I know that like you I am rich beyond measure.
As you, O autumn, take pleasure in your great bounty,
Let me also take delight
In the abundance of the simple things in life
Which are the true source of joy.
With the golden glow of peaceful contentment
May I truly appreciate this autumn day.
A stunning nightscape
in the absence
a bruised sky
(kelly salasin, october 2012)