Melange: my daily mix



collided with Aaron Shust’s song of hope

through the last morning stoplights.

Five solid hours of filing, yet unfinished

slammed into belly laughs with coworkers.

Lost pens, dropped calls, software crashes

melted away with the first bite

of peach pie, nuanced with nutmeg:

my caring sister’s sweet surprise.

A forgotten payment, still on the counter

rear-ended my stolen reading minutes

but didn’t sour the apple cider tea party

I promised my daughter two days ago.

Our teacups’ tiny clinks whispered calm.

Bluegill fried crisp from our own pond

compensated for charred rice and soggy broccoli.

One spread of hand-washed dishes

shushed the pervasive chaos.

Disrespectful words before bed

dissipated as I breathed practice notes

in my flute to old praise hymns.

Isaiah’s vision in my daily verses

rerouted my thoughts

to this morning’s song:

My hope is in You, Lord.


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