in this deep-set country yard, flanked
by a small but lovely lake, lily-padded
with scores of frogs, whose nightly chorus
rises to crescendos echoing across the water
and resonating through the trees, whose
leaves drop daily onto our deck in need
of sweeping – a wide yard, whose grass
constantly needs mowing, whose air
conditioner keeps running up an electric
bill I sometimes worry about paying.
Praise You, God, for Your Shalom,
hedging me in with giant green arms
upholding, soothing, sustaining me
as this wasp hovers over my head.
by Mary Harwell Sayler, © 2014, 2016