True Weather
The weather outside changes,
made fickle by the mountains and winds,
storms one minute,
peace and sun the next,
a puzzle of uncertainty,
unpredictable
with it’s anger and joy.
But here in the sanctuary
of your soul,
all is peace,
a focus not on the world,
but the silence
that sings to God each morning
and is cradled by him
each night.
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The picture was taken at a house in Washington Country, New York. You can click on it for a larger version.
Tom
Quarry House 
What a comforting idea… our nights being “cradled” by God. I am glad I saw this poem this morning.
thank you, Tom.
Lovely piece. The second stanza holds particular appeal for me.
Thanks you for your visit to Poetikat's Blasts From the Past and for your comment. I would be pleased if you would visit my alternate blog, “Poetikat's Invisible Keepsakes” where I focus mainly on poetry (but diverge occasionally).
Kat
Beautiful.
Hi Tom,
Nice words and thought.
I like to think my soul is a sanctuary of peace. Lovely poem, Tom.