In these heavy dews of August,
when the grass would make us think
it surely must have rained in the night,
in spite of that clear brightness
of a full moon,

In the surprising chill of morning air
when it seems that this must be surely
be some early autumn’s dawning,
even though we know the apples
are not yet ripe,

In the soft stillness of locust branches,
when it seems that not even a breath
could pass without leaves flinching,
and the birches drape toward earth
without the slightest ripple,

In the low-hanging mist over the pasture,
when it seems that every gray particle
holds its particular place
in spite of all the gravity
that pulls against this week:

In all of this there is peace,
a quieting of my thoughts,
a knowing that even in the aftermath
of suicide and all other passings,
in spite of all pangs and pains,
all fears and tears,

The God Who Draws Near to Us
is continuing to work
for the good of those who love him,
who are called according to his purpose.

Even though the weight of what is
and what soon will be
may press down on me
like the heat of a prairie sun,
I will claim the peace of this good promise

and I will take the good of this good day.

H. Arnett
8/14/14