At its northernmost angle of the year,
a red ball sunrise bleeds through
the near tangle of elm and maple.

The heat of the first day of summer
lingered a bit longer in the ebbing light
of last night’s transition from dusk to dark:

we sat outside and welcomed the slight ease
of an eastern breeze that fluttered through
the leaves and limbs of the patio trees.

Tired from her day’s travels and testings,
Randa rested in a lounge chair
set beneath low branches.

Lying back below the same branches,
I rested, too, tired from the heat and the sweat
of an afternoon of getting firewood stacked by the garage.

A single tongue of flame
sifting through the coals of a small fire
might seem unlikely amusement on a summer night

but we like the way the colors play
among the seams of burning wood
and stay far enough away to avoid the added heat.

And even though we may have talked
a little less than usual
and definitely headed to bed a bit earlier,

we like the ritual of taking our time
in the unwinding of sheltered darkness,
the slow readying of entering our rest,

followed by the lying down on clean sheets,
believing that the night’s sleep
will find us ready for our rising

and the soft beauty
of a red ball sunrise
through the filtering shade

on this good day that the Lord has made.


H. Arnett
6/22/2023