Sister Andrew John’s Weblog 2

She lived on Michigan’s shore, no vast estate,
but just a house. White clapboard, dormer windows
looking on her shoreline; a few feet
of rocks and thorny bushes, but no dock
to moor a boat, or sandy beach to walk.

Widowed in youth, she’d lived here fifty years
with memories, of course, but recently
with thankfulness for having reached an age
where she need not go out to work, but take
the time to visit with her friend, the lake.

Hers was a small, neat porch, where she’d sit
for hours at a time, and watch the curls
of gray-white water smash against her rocks,
spaying the air with drops of mirrored light
that never failed to teach and to delight.

What did she learn from this, her inland sea?
Well, peace that comes from knowing what comes next.
The water, always true to its own ways
taught her to see her own reality,
and then to understand eternity.