The house is quiet, and growing quieter. Candace is upstairs with the children, no doubt tucking them into their blankets and leading them in their evening prayers.
I await her presence, here at the end of this day… the end of a long week. A single foaming crest within a storm-toss`d Sea. I am the weary sailor cast upon a sandy shore, heaving in grateful breaths to be away from the raging maelstrom.
Verily, our air-conditioner has not been activated since the sultry days of Julius became the milder month of Augustus… a breezy open window is all the ambient comfort we require. Even so, I am not comforted.
Upon this eve we enjoyed a meal of luscious delicacy… fresh salad of Maryland`s black soil: crisp Tidewater lettuce, bright Eastern Shore tomatoes, served with a savory hand-tossed pizza and a sturdy Baltimore draft. We ate upon the bistro patio, under the cool of Evening`s shade. Even so, I am not comforted.
The songs of the birds trill upon eave and branch during the Dawning break, Crickets and Cicadas sing as sparkling swarms of Fireflies illuminate the Dusking gloom… sweet Music fills the air. Even so, I am not comforted.
Out across the Bay, the water is placid – a plane of still perfection, reflecting an opalescent sky of silver-pink and lavender-blue. Even so, I am not comforted…
For the foul stench of scandal fills the air. Trust and virtue, violated each in kind. Calumny and crass slander is upon the lips of many. Scribes (of what is idly-thought “fit to print”) screed warbling in saffron tones of sensationalism, a hurting family is run roughshod in the wreckage of perceived public interests.
Even as there is no Art to finding the mind`s construction in the face, he was a man on whom I built near an absolute trust. Now… almost all, for him, is lost.
This storm is far from ending, but I stand upon a Rock.
I am comforted.