by Laura Melvin

Might the old Meeting House at Bear Creek Friends break the silence?

If so, it would speak a wordless poem —

to catch it on paper would be like trying

to net the kaleidoscope of clouds that sprint across open fields.

As the Holy silence deepens

experienced benches creak in rhythm with deep breaths

as life spirals into greater unknowing.

This mute poem is unhurried;

with soft eyes that sparkle

it watches the winter Light

scattering unpredictable abundance

across the seasoned plank floor.

Bare branches nod at the window.

Wordless wisdom peeks through

In smiles of contentment.

The door opens,

With a clack, the elderly latch breaks the silence:

“All is well.

God is here.”

Iowa Mid-yearly Meeting

April 2014

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