Sometimes when I am troubled
I wander through the photo albums of my mind
To places of peace and love.
I lie near the pine of our old backyard,
In the tall early morning grass,
Just after dew tears have dried,
Watching mountains of marshmallow clouds drift by.
I sit on the deck of an Idaho cabin,
Where I gaze at magnificent pines,
And observe busy chipmunks,
As they open brown seeds for lunch
I watch the flames of a campfire
Melt from dancing yellow and orange,
To a red, red glow, and
Slowly expire into flickering black embers and white ash.
I rock a baby,
Feel a soft cheek against my neck,
The pressure of dainty feet upon my leg,
A tiny hand curling round my little finger.
I perch in the sheltering rocks of a windy beach,
See the white caps forming at sea,
Watch Roger playing with the children on the shore,
Smell the salt and hear the gulls.
I gaze from a schoolroom window,
At the oaks and pecans of the woods,
Listening to the murmur of children,
Busy with reading, writing, and painting.
I stroll the temple grounds,
Pull grass spears from among the flowers beside the walk,
Sit looking up towards its towers,
Sense the trumpet’s soundless plea for peace
Remembering through each scene,
Knowing how I have been understood and loved,
Feeling the Spirit wash my heart in a quiet hush,
Then, in the stillness, the calmness,
the silence, comes serenity.
Cerita M. Hewett
July 12, 2009