I like my sleep slow and deep,
drifting through the night
like white clouds in a high sky,
taking all of time there is,
unwaking, unthinking, uninterrupted.

That’s how I like my sleep.

I like my days going by in even pace,
each thing in its own place and left alone,
every deed and duty taking its own space
with no need for more time or effort,
unpressing, unstressing, undisturbed.

That’s how I like my days.

I like my home warm and loving,
each word gentle like touching
the soft fur on the throat of a kitten,
each moment a sure rest from the world’s pressure,
undemanding, understanding, unblaming.

That’s how I like my home.

But some nights jerk and jag their way
through nagging thoughts,
seconds dragging by like the gray of December
when the late rains have frozen on the prairie.

And some days have a way
of running counter and crossways
and in a dozen different directions,
each moment spawning some dispersing twist or turn.

But my home,
even after those nights,
even on those days,
when the last fade of whatever busy-ness is gone,
is still warm and gentle, soft and sure
as the voice of God speaking to the storm.

I am blessed beyond belief.

H. Arnett
11/12/09