How rare it seems on an August day

to see such a cool breeze

rippling through the leaves of the trees,

moving across the grass

as if summer were already past

and long chill nights were upon us.

How good it seems to sit

and feel the fading sun warm on my back

as we gather around the table

for popcorn and coffee

and the light laughter of family close and ready.

How comforting it seems as evening draws near,

to halter the horses in the north pasture,

heads bowed and manes blowing

as they follow across the curling ryegrass

in the sifted shade of the locust tree,

beneath the bleached birch

and across the fescue-ed terrace

that rolls down toward the round pen.

In the ending of this good day,

we do the things that need doing

give thanks for the need and the doing

in this place of peace and presence,

where something as simple as a cool August evening

could lift callused hands to worship.

H. Arnett

8/24/15