A harbour of peace

It rained all day yesterday and now it is soggy, sitting quietly absorbing and feeling the wetness, letting it ooze and lie, and a little get teased out by the shallow sun.  The hawthorn tree is adorned with jewels of raindrops again, like semiluscent pearls.  It is a Sunday morning and you can feel the Sabbath peace calming the air.  I can hear the slow rumble of a distant plane, I am sitting still as planet and time and planes move under me and beyond me.  If you listen to the damp quietness you can hear it drip, you can feel it filling the air.  The remnant oak leaves are plastered darkly to the ground and have taken up residence as constituents of earth.  The faithful grass keeps pace with the seasons, holding the rain and the scattered leaves like a sponge.  The sky glistens.  It is mother of pearl grey shining with light near the white orb of the sheltered sun.

This day is here holding stillness and breath and being and we can stride through its waters or soak in its stream.  It is always here, holding its own presence, filled with the touch of God, for us to anchor our days.  It is a good listener and it can take the fret and fuss of the fullness of our lives and exchange it for a harbour of peace.