Be Still and Know ...
by: Jon Crane

Saturday Ramblins, Vol. 1, No. 13 (August 8, 1998)

Sitting on an old bench by Lake Pontchartrain — a lake so vast you cannot see the other shore to the north: my own inland sea for an hour. A weather front to the west paints half the sky like a slate-colored canvas whose reflection turns the surface of the water to tarnished silver, creating a seamless horizon between heaven and earth.

Blue-gray clouds hang against the slate sky. Between the layers ribbons of pale yellow and golden hues show through as the hidden sun sets — moving towards exotic lands we can only dream of. The cloud tops to the south are baby pink against a baby blue sky while the full moon, recently risen, hangs like a Japanese lantern at a summer yard party over my right shoulder.

Crickets underscore this scene as waves lapping against the sea-wall at my feet provide the bass line. A small shrimp boat, her nets furled, hurries towards the mouth of the harbor out-racing the fading light while a sailboat, silent, slips towards the shore. The freshening breeze dusts off the final heat of the day carrying with it the distant laughter of children at play.

I don't need to go in search of God. I need but to sit still and He finds me. He surrounds me. He fills me up.

This page hosted by Get your own Free Home Page