Toward Peace

Sometime between the sun’s last ebbing
and actual darkness,
I finish watering the small trees.

Feeling the evening’s shift toward cool
and the strong breeze,
I ask Randa if she wants to sit outside
with me for a while.

She gets the new collapsible reclining chairs
from the dilapidated little garden shed
and begins spreading hers into its shape
on the flat of the concrete patio.

We sit, then, sipping cold drinks
and watching the moon slip its way
into the branches of the pin oak.

While the wind blends tones from two bottles,
we throttle back from the day,
feet toward the west
and welcoming this stage of rest.

It takes more than this for peace:
a deeper sensing of what you believe
and a willingness to receive life’s offerings
of both giving and taking away,
a firm knowing of a home that lies beyond
the sun’s last setting.

I take the last sip from the bottle,
watch the wind bending the locust tree
and the moon rippling through oak branches.

It takes more than this for peace.
But this is a fine moment
for remembering those other things.

H. Arnett

About Doc Arnett

Native of southwestern Kentucky currently living in Ark City, Kansas, with my wife of twenty-nine years, Randa. We have, between us, eight children and twenty-eight grandkids. We enjoy singing, worship, remodeling and travel.
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