Rest Reaches Out


There is no time to plant,

to nurture,

to wait…

Rush, hurry, scurry, bustle.

The syncopated rhythms of a harried existence

Push, worry, fury, tussle.

Shortened breath,

shortened life,

ends in death…

We are all forced to rest at some point.

It can be welcomed, not permanently resisted.

Leached of life, hardened clay

Parched ground, cracked firmament

Strip mined, scorched earth

A thousand scars rutted deep

Yet, even tortured ground can be healed by the gentle Rain

Rivulets and rivers, streams and creeks run back to their Source

Every cloud pours out its thunder

No place is untouched by the sweeping winds of change

Every quiet night, nestled in its arms

The cool light from each star descends, unanxious and watchful

The toil has ceased.

Rest reaches out to comfort each weary head and lonely heart.

Even the soil sighs its relief.

Each morning dawns as a ray of mercy, the light of grace.

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