THE STORM
August 8, 2015
Birmingham
Dragging promises of rain to come, a brooding grayness has elbowed it's way into the day. In the stillness a sense of waiting, of biding time permeates the space and I react with dread. What chord is plucked...what feelings stir? When did this gloomy closing in and shutting down first signal abandonment? A fearful sorrow is reflected in nature's down turned shapes and indrawn breath...of suspended animation. The day, like grief, is pulsing in anticipation. All at once the fury is upon us...as fast as it appears...that quickly it recedes...the sun again holds sway... And then the world continues with it's day.
This time there is a change... lessons left behind and sculpted by the storm. I know now that, even while it rages and all around feels bleak, I am not alone... I am part of all that is and thus all is part of me... and finally, finally now I see that once faced self-storms lose their power to intimidate.
Birmingham
Dragging promises of rain to come, a brooding grayness has elbowed it's way into the day. In the stillness a sense of waiting, of biding time permeates the space and I react with dread. What chord is plucked...what feelings stir? When did this gloomy closing in and shutting down first signal abandonment? A fearful sorrow is reflected in nature's down turned shapes and indrawn breath...of suspended animation. The day, like grief, is pulsing in anticipation. All at once the fury is upon us...as fast as it appears...that quickly it recedes...the sun again holds sway... And then the world continues with it's day.
This time there is a change... lessons left behind and sculpted by the storm. I know now that, even while it rages and all around feels bleak, I am not alone... I am part of all that is and thus all is part of me... and finally, finally now I see that once faced self-storms lose their power to intimidate.
