This morning it’s thundering far away outside- dark stormy clouds and I feel the blood under my skin quicken. I feel awakened, beautiful and alive. The weather is as wild as my second boy and they compliment each other in an almost competition. It’s summer warm and I ponder on it all.
I open the front door, welcoming in the whispering change on the horizon. Hints as raindrops hesitatingly fall without pattern.
I love this. The mystery before change.
Shining eyes and quivering bodies beg to go outside and in a rush of feeling, I agree just to see their delight. I smile as they tip faces back to the sky and mouths open to taste the rain.
They dart back and forth under the coverings of the porch and tree branches, laughter rumbling like the friendly thunder and I warn not to run with a smile.
The raindrops come quicker now, along with the wind. It sweeps down in sheets, thin and light, blown into a frenzy, yet equally soaking. The sideways rain meets the hill of my street in an almost indiscernible wide armed greeting before an embrace.
As the heavier rain groans away, the boys become braver, darting further away from the door. One with bare feet on the warm driveway is finally drawn down to the sun-heated gutter water rushing down my hill and the little one follows.
At my last house, I had a cathedral that I looked up at every day out my window. Tall, arching branches intertwining dramatically- heart stirringly like a an ancient place of worship. Now, the ceilings have lowered down with bent over, moss covered branches that hang down like arms on a casual stroll. …and I reach up, fingertips brushing the bridal tent. There is a heart pounding reality all around me and I feel almost intoxicated with joy, real, bone soaking joy.
But then I’m pulled back into the here and the now. The reality of wet clothes, disappointed children being shooed back inside and the lunch needing to be made. Suddenly the whimsy seems silly and there is mud. My head pounds from the changing weather and I feel the aching sadness.
The rain quietens into a softness as branches high above sway in the wind bringing the predicted cold and snow. I am left staring at the bright yellow of January dead grass with the dark sky hovering and I’m thrown back into my time living in Ukraine and their wheat fields to the sky; a divided flag of yellow and navy. I think of the hopeless, the hungry and the lost.
I’m pulled from memories quickly as a young boy needs water and the other boy needs help going to the bathroom.
I sneak a breath outside and I hear loud, howling wind.
I fight the soul sucking pain, some days are easier than others. I store up all the good, but sometimes feel like I’m desperately gathering up water in a large apron, trickling out, the weight of it pulling me down even as I pointlessly scoop it closer to me.
and there, in those moments, I let go of it all. I have to. I give back what is not mine to hold and open clenched fists, palms up in surrender. I give up my rights, what is fair and my desires. I dry my tears and look around, embracing the beauty, the noise and the many, many gifts I have in my life.
