I thought I would write on this quiet and peaceful afternoon,
but as I retrieved my pen and paper and situated myself to
write, my weather radio started going off and distant
rumblings were transformed into a veritable tempest outside.
And now I'm being serenaded by pounding rains and raucous reverberations.
I have always loved snuggling in on a stormy day, with pen in hand,
enjoying the contrast of the peace within and the storms without.
However, such enjoyment seems presumptuous, even arrogant,
in view of the tragedies of April and May across our nation.
These very storms are the remains of those that began
last Saturday, spreading terror and tornadoes
as they marched eastward.
My heart has ached this week as images of
such terrible devastation have inundated
the airwaves and newspapers.
It has been almost too much to process.
So many lives lost; so many left in shambles.
In times like these, good and evil, faith and fear,
the rational and the irrational, all seem to collide inside me.
My faith is strong, but my understanding
is so limited and fallible.
Perhaps I should have picked up my pen this morning,
when my world was filled with flowers, serenity and sunshine...
lmw
