A Cold September Day

It was a cold September day in the year of 1815, the wind was howling and the darkness was settling fast upon my English home. As I looked out the window I shivered and began to rub my arms. I was all alone in the house those days, save Robert, the butler (valet); Molly, the house maid; and Mrs. Tilley, our congenial, if not bossy old cook. Mrs. Wittenmore, our former housekeeper had been let go exactly a week before this date, and it seemed as if her cruel prediction of my life being ruined was already becoming more of reality than fiction. You see, Daddy had gone off to war again…it seems that Napoleon, the “little tyrant”, as some called him, had escaped his island prison and was attempting to reconquer Europe for the second time. I myself had thought him a pompous little fool-but of course, I was watching from a distance.. At this thought of mine even the sky rebelled and sent streaking hail against the window pane, jarring me from my reverie. Even the clouds seemed to disapprove of my thoughts, but, then, they must have observed Napoleon and his army in action. For a few more precious minutes I stared languidly out the foggy window panes, but presently I was called to tea. Since I had so thoroughly disposed of Mrs. Wittenmore, I had no one to keep me company, as the servants and cook kept to their own private quarters. This being the case, I took my tea and retired to the parlor where I could sit beside the cozy flame and watch the rain and hail beat incessantly against the window. This above described scene was a regular occurrence in my meager life. I ate, drank, and slept. Most of my time was spent in the luxurious outside garden that my daddy had built for me when we had first moved here, but ten years hence. There was an orchard to the far back of the garden also. It was there that I betook myself whenever I felt the need to confine myself to solitude (be alone).
As I sat down in the parlor and took my tea I became aware of a dark silhouette wandering through the garden outside the parlor doors. I instantly became frightened and insecure. This seclusion was driving me insane, and I knew it. The shadowy form drew closer and closer to the parlor doors and when the thing had almost reached it it stopped and stared intently inside, it’s eyes burning flames into my soul. It’s eyes were like the translucent glow of the peculiar insect, the fire fly, or so I had read, that the little things flew about giving an impression of tiny stars or fairy dust floating through the night air. But these eyes- no, they were not the pleasant little creatures I had read of. These were like little sparks of the hottest fire- sometimes white hot, sometimes kindling to a (white flash) fiery red glow that reminded me of the devil’s pit. It’s face was party illuminated by the fire that was burning cheerfully across from (where I sat frozen) me, and from what I could see it would have been a fine face, with delicate features and soft natural curls framing it, but it was twisted with insanity, and what I may safely assume was rage and hate. The rest of it was hidden by the darkness and the deep fog that had seeped up from the moors. So transfixed had I been on this demon-creature that my eyes cried out for moisture. I blinked, and in that second, the figure was gone.
Ask me not, reader, what happened to the sprite, for to this day the mystery is still not fully solved (plain) to me. I sat there for some time afterwards, shaking with fear and penetrated with horror, so badly had the apparition shaken me. My tea had been forgotten and my cake had fallen to the floor at my feet. I was in a daze- pondering whether the thing had been a dream, or reality. I am certain that I would have still been there if my previously mentioned Mrs. Tilley had not come in and found me in a state of shock. The darling old dear bustled me up to my apartment and helped me undress and climb into my bed. I know not how I managed to sleep that night, but this I know, the ghost never is vanquished from my dreams, and some lonely nights my screams still wake the household.

The Sound, the Melody of Fall

The wind is whispering love songs though the falling leaves tonight. the sun in sinking lower sooner- the shadows filter repose.

My rose lips embrace a smile-there's a quiet beauty in the silence. The bluebirds woo my heart, but the sparrows are remaining silent. The honey brown-stained porch swing just relaxing in the sunset light. Sunflowers swaying gently in the breeze.

The symphony of nature in the breezes and the trees. The quiet falling of the sunset-dyed leaves. Crinkly under foot. little prickles in my lungs by the brisk night air. Wandering through the cornfields- down the long, long rows of solid gold.

The smell, fragrance, of cooking pumpkin pies- of jack-'o-lanterns and dewy cobwebs in the early morning light. Of the roasting turkey and the dressing. Of family and of laughter.

My hazel eyes are sparkling tonight. Dreaming of all the times we've had or missed. I'll plait my hair with the year's last yellow rose. I'll jump in the crunchy leaves like a little girl and intoxicate myself in a peppermint wind.
And I won't let it be broken by the sound of your goodbye. Nor will the sweet smile fade from upon my lips.

Hot tea in the morning- bright and early- a steaming mocha in my hand tonight. Curled up on the love-seat- dreaming of days gone by. 

I'll not worry 'bout the morrow, or make my heart anxious about tonight. I'll just sit here absorbing the silence. my clear voice will sing out Your praises, because my life is Yours. Your sweet jealous possession of my heart, Your bride, is all I could ever want- forever or tonight.

Place of Quiet

I'm sitting here- silently absorbing this moment. I'm sitting in my Mom's easy chair, with curly hair and a quiet heart. All I can hear is the steady ticking of the clock mimicking my heart beat, my pencil scratching on this paper- my own quiet breathing. Do you know how much I love these moments? These moments of quiet solitude- when my heart and mind take a moment in the bustling day to just be still. 
...and then people come into the house and turn music on...or start a conversation...or turn the video games or tv on. I feel like my existence is crushed. I can only last so long. I love the silence. But if you watch me, soon I'll slip out of the room, the house...out of civilization. 
If I was at camp I would go sit in the chapel when no one's there- in the corner on the pew- the sunshine on my face. Fold up and reflect on my heart-just listening to the silence. Or maybe steal away to walk the horse trail. Up to the sagebrush wilderness and through the trees to my little beach. A narrow strip of sand with foamy waves lapping the shore. An abrupt incline behind me- a beautiful lake before me. I'd sit on the beach and toss pebbles into the water. Listening to the comforting plop-plop-plop of the stones hitting the surface and sinking beneath. Let the water tickle my toes and let the breeze sift it's fingers through my hair. I'd close my eyes and let the wind caress my face. Let the cool evening air wash over me. I hear an eagles's cry echo over the lake and so I look up and gaze as his majestic wings carry him over the trees. I would spend as long as I could in that spot...until the last traces of the sunset were dying away and the night is growing dusky. I would pick my way back up the incline and through the sagebrush and over the barbed wire- trek across the camp and launch myself into sleep as I gazed at the mountain stars through the window by my bed. I wouldn't even care if I missed dinner. 
Can't you see? The silence is part of my soul- it fills me up and gives me peace. It's so much easier to have an intimate conversation, without distractions, with my Daddy-my best friend-my Savior Jesus Christ.
I see in my mind's eye and wish with all my heart that I could be there tonight. At least for one last time. But I'll sit here, in my room and listen past the voices, past the fish tank, past the music, to the quiet chirping of the crickets outside my window- to the stillness that I love so much. I carry that peace within me though. It's not from nature, or people, or things, or even security- it's from the Holy One of Israel, and it dwells deep within my soul.

 I am the possessor of a quiet soul.