Sheryl Ann Bickford Turner.

March 20, 1965 - September 10, 2004.

    A PLACE OF SOLITUDE, a place of peace and rest, a place where nobody disturbs---here is where one can sit and think. The quiet ripples, the great trees, the clear reflections, the majestic swans with their gracefully arched necks---all bring a sense of security and ....peace.

   Storms whip the waters to a frenzy of muddy yellow spray. Trees fling their great arms in protest; their roots clutch the ground. The leaves swirl about, the rain pours down, and the thunder rolls as dark clouds frown menacingly on the tumultuous scene. Brilliant streaks of light rend the sky, lighting up the scene of torment.

   The Master speaks, " Peace,  be still," and there is...peace.

   The lake of my soul was a lake of storms. The winds of life would come and lash it until I felt it must burst its banks.The havens of peace were flooded by cascades of trial. The place of solitude was changed to a den of riot by a million voices, some calling one way and some another.

The Master spoke, " Peace,  be still," and there was... peace.

By Esme' Dougans