****I realize some of you are wondering why I posted twice yesterday. I actually posted once, when I thought my son was just about to take the LSAT, however after he called with his bad frustrating news, I pulled the post, amended it, and reposted it reflecting his troubling news. Therefore the second posting was indeed the more current of the two. All I can do is humbly ask for prayers—that I may provide comfort as well as be comforted in my lack of understanding and frustration as a mother. How to console a grown child when his heart is broken, only for the umpteenth time. . .
The sky was dark and gloomy, the air was damp and raw, the streets were wet and sloppy. The smoke hung sluggishly above the chimney-tops as if it lacked the courage to rise, and the rain came slowly and doggedly down, as if it had not even the spirit to pour.
Charles Dickens, The Pickwick Papers
These shots were taken Thursday evening. It was the first glimpse of color, from what I assumed to be the sun, which we had not seen in truly 7 days—just as it was setting. A tease of what could have been. I don’t mind rain. I don’t mind fog. I don’t mind drizzle. I don’t mind wind (well, that depends on whether it’s a good hair day or not). I don’t mind sleet, I don’t snow. But excess, well that’s another story. Nor am I a fan of the fury of any of the aforementioned weather events.
I worry for the trees–will they be blown over? Will they bend and break under the heavy ice? Will they simply uproot due to the saturated soil? I worry about driving in fog, sleet and rain. I’ve witnessed one too many catastrophes due to wet and / or icy roads.
Lightning and thunder scare the crap out of me. Remember the tree picture I posted a month or so ago? One minute a tree, the next minute a splintered toothpick, along with 5 pictures blown off the walls in the house. Yep, just looove that lighting.
For me, I think that the most troubling aspect of this phenomena known as weather lies with the unseasonableness and unexpectedness of it all. I think that’s what seems to vex me most. Perhaps it is due to the fact that there is an innate connection between our rhythm of life and this living breathing earth of ours. When the cadence is altered, I am altered. My mood shifts from placid and content to agitated, sullen and often as dreary as the day.
I’m not saying that everything should be sun and roses by any means, as I do love a good rainy day. I love that first gentle snow that blankets the earth in pristine silence. I love the anticipation of a summer’s storm. Its presence announced first by the scent of the unmistakable perfume of the earthy rain followed by the distant rumble to thunder which only grows in intensity. I love the change of seasons. The ebb and flow of the weather mirrors my own life’s ebb and flow.
It is however those endless days of grey and gloom— those days of excessive heat sans breeze or heavenly rains, which try my soul to no end. The day in and day outness of it all. Perhaps it is the lack of change, the lack of new that weighs me down with a semiconscious melancholy spirit. To wake each morning, ritually opening the shutters in anticipation of what will lay ahead for the day—only to discover that today is just a reoccurrence of the day before and of the day before that.
And just when it seemed that it would rain forever, that the skies would hide behind the grey heavy clouds, that the heaviness of the air would crush me with it’s weight, suddenly, unexpectedly there is a shift. A parting of the heavens. The light emerges, the winds shift, the mood lifts. There is indeed hope after all.
Here is to the hope of sunnier skies, drier roads, straighter trees, calmer winds, smoother waters, seasonal temperatures. . .here is always to Hope.