Weary
When overwhelmed
by the abrasiveness
of information
coming in,
too fast,
too disturbing
to absorb,
I let my mind rest
for a bit
in the silent prayer
of familiar daily tasks
and that is often
just the salve
I need.
By Maria Brady-Smith
Happy Sunday morning. The picture here really has nothing to do with the poem, but I thought it was a comforting scene from my trip to Ireland last January. And for someone, a long time ago, the daily task was stacking those stones to clear a field.