Waiting for the Rain
The air itself is steamy; but the sky withholds its rain. And even though our skin and the skin of the trees and the rocks in the creek bed are slicked with a thin dampness, we are parched and wilted, all of us.
We have been through seasons like this before, of course. We know that sooner or later the rain will come. We lock into patience mode and make the best of it, watching, with those whose crops grow brittle in the fields, for a sign of gathering clouds.
Everything has its dry spells. Friendships, marriages, businesses, careers. You call on whatever reserves you have to get you by and wait.
You find diversions to while away the time and let yourself study how the landscape looks when it’s dry, when its bare bones are exposed. Sometimes you find unexpected treasures, features and strengths you hadn’t known were there.
No time is without its blessings. The key is to accept what is, without wanting it to be different. Then you’re free to see it with clear eyes, to mine the moment for its goodness, while you wait for the rain.
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