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.
