Storms

52
Lisa Holt

There’s a storm coming. Dark clouds on the horizon tell me so. The air feels different, electrified, energized as it’s anticipating the coming deluge. The birds don’t sing as loudly. All seems quieter and still. Soon will come thunder, or is it lightning first? Either way, they are the announcers of the arrival of a disturbance. And when the clouds overtake the blue of the sky, changing it to gray and the thunder and lightning have had their time, that’s when the rains make an appearance; beautiful, cleansing rain that washes away the dust of the dry summer and gives the parched ground life-saving liquid. With all of its ferocity, the storm leaves its mark, I know it was here, it is evident in the puddles at my feet. But the birds are singing again and life has resumed as it was before, only brighter and renewed somehow.

 

Thus it is in life. Clouds gather from our circumstance until they are filled with anger, hurt or frustration. Our raised voices and incensed words emulate the thunder and lightning until finally we are spent and the tears flow, beautiful liquid that tracks down our faces and puddles at our feet. And just as the rain washes away the dust, the tears wash away the anger and we are left new again, ready to face the next storm.

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