It seemed to me as if they had attained something and
were looking to light and hope. Margarite September 1921
By Martin Ough Dealy
There is always a little everywhere, if you look.
on the Somme where the stone of Frank looks out over the now quiet fields of Picardy;
by the school chapel in Lancashire where his brother Sydney lies, an airman alone, fallen from the skies;
near Hanover where Jack rests with six comrades of a later war;
in the little cemetery on a quiet hill that seems to have so much.
Listen for it in the silence of an early dawn.
Contemplate it in the lonely thrumming of wires vibrating in the wind.
Look for it in the calm before the storm; and again in the aftermath.
Hear it in the brushing of an incoming tide in the dead calm of night.
Thrill to it in the trees soughing in the influence of an evening breeze.
See it in the placid waters of a garden pond.
Experience it in the solace of an empty Cathedral.
Watch it in the eyes of a dying friend when realization finally comes.
Enjoy it in the presence of a sleeping child.
Smile at it in the opening of the lily’s flower in the morning sun.
Anticipate it always in the midst of trouble and strife.
Find it best somewhere in yourself.