Tranquil Waters, Gentle Waves

Every Friday morning I meet a group of friends

at one of the parks in the Denver area.

Today we gathered near the Vintage Boathouse at Wash Park.

We spread my Great-Great-Aunt-Sissy's quilt with its faded pink flowers

beneath huge lakeside shade trees and lounged with

our coffee, tea, and morning snacks.

The peaceful water seemed to soothe everything around us.

Even the white geese with trailing toddlers

were more tranquil than usual.

I gazed out over the gently drifting current

and thought of friends whose days and realistic expectations

are anything but calm, serene, or tranquil.

Hundreds of applications and dozens of interviews,

sleepless nights and stressful days,

anxious weeks extending into months.

How long? How long, O Lord? echoes the 13th Psalm.

How long must sorrow remain? How long?

There are no words sufficient for my hopes.

But there are gentle waves drifting by.