This has been an extraordinary year for me, encompassing devastating lows and dizzying highs and various points between. Both the heights and the depths, I see in retrospect, have been vantage points which offered me views of aspects of myself and my path that I might not have recognized from any other perspective. But the intensity of neither the agonies, thank God, nor the ecstasies can be maintained for prolonged periods of time, and as the year winds down, the earth yielding its treasures and discarding its detritus before its season of rest, I find a sense of the rightness of it all, richer than I’ve felt before, enwrapping me in a deep and comfortable peace.
Contentment flickers in these home-hearth flames
of gentle warmth and softly-glowing light.
It whispers through the murmur of the names
we call each other as we say good night.
When we climb into bed it tucks us in
and sings to us as we drift off to sleep –
no fears for what may come or might have been,
just simple trust that Love our souls will keep.
It greets us, fresh and fragrant, in the dawn
and walks with us the path of this day’s grace,
finding its joy in common things, homespun –
a quilt, a chair, a dear familiar face;
underpinning the cadence of our living,
it draws us to the great dance of thanksgiving.
Becka Choat is a lifelong lover of words who spends many hours each week in a room of her own, writing or reading and drinking coffee. Her book reviews can be found at www.beckasbookreview.wordpress.com, and her poetry and other musings at www.beckachoat.wordpress.com. You may also follow @beckachoat and/or @booksbybecka on Twitter.