Serenity is not the absence of wind,
But the assurance of an anchor.
I whisper, so as not to interrupt,
but your eyes see Another, and my presence
melts into the recesses of the Cathedral;
my footsteps echo hollow on grass and stone.
Kneeling in reverence,
you rise above me to a secret place,
a cleft in the Rock;
and I am left behind, in this plane –
yearning, always yearning.
Even I can see
that in prostration, you achieve elevation;
you lift up your head
and bow your heart
and step over the threshhold
Liquid sunshine, rays of gold
Dappled ‘neath the shade
Trickling water, springtime brook
Grass and mushroom, tree and thorn
Reaching to the sky
Froggy chorus, forest hymn –
My Mother’s Day treat was to go for a family hike along a local river, searching for ‘The Rock’. There is a huge rock, covered with fossils, lying within the riverbed. Large enough for our family of four to picnic on, we haven’t been to visit for several years. To access the river proper, we ford a brook – and its damp shores are smothered in marsh flowers. The Rock was not to be accessed this year – the water level was too high. But the hike was lovely – and the serenity of Nature at her best drew out this little verse. Isn’t our world magnificent?