Autism & Storms

I love storms.  

Which is just as well, as there's a monster howling against the windows right now.

There's a sense of Mother Earth baring her teeth and reminding us that we're here only because she allows us to be here.  There's something primal about being reminded that civilization has a very thin veneer, and it wouldn't take a huge amount of effort on her part to whip it away.

Storms give me a sense of my place in the world.  I feel a strange sense of peace when the elements are showing me exactly who's in charge. 

I finished seeing my clients early today so I decided to surprise my husband at work with a coffee (he's an Emergency Department nurse).  This took me down an unfamiliar road.  The storm was still a few hours away, and ragged clouds whipped across intense, low sunshine.  Twisters of red leaves exploded in the squall.  Light and dark chased each other across a sky brimming with unspilled rain.

I could barely breathe with the beautiful drama of it all.

It felt like a joyful synchronicity with the storm of emotions I experienced about Finian over the last few days.  Nature was performing the age-old play of finding beauty in chaos, using the sky as a stage.

Yesterday I wrote about the guilt and pain I feel about needing respite from Finian.  The responses I received, in public and private messages, were humbling and raw and humanizing.  

We're all in the storm.  And there's something kinda thrilling about that.