Michael Appelt

Late summer carries a special kind of stillness—
a time when the air feels unhurried,
and the world seems to pause between what has been
and what is yet to come.

In that stillness, I find myself waiting.
The world often tells us that true freedom comes only later,
perhaps with retirement, when the work is finally done.
But as I sit in my garden, I sense another voice,
a quieter promise—one that speaks of freedom already here:

I sit in my garden, 
among the flowers of late summer.
A small plane hums above, 
its sound fading into the distance.
The kite calls his mate, 
circling high in the air, 
and I wait — 
not impatiently, 
but like the earth waits 
for evening coolness,
like the leaf waits
for the wind to turn it.

They say that one day,
when work is finally done,
I will be free—
as if freedom begins
only at the gate of retirement.
But here, in the hush of late summer,
I hear another voice:
the quiet promise of Christ,
who whispers that freedom
is not postponed—
it is here,where hearts rest in Him.

So I wait,
but not for chains to fall away.
I wait in the freedom already given,
in the peace of His garden,
where every breath is grace.