Sunday, April 18, 2010

How Do You Say...

Two words is not enough. It's not enough to explain what I need to say, what I feel. Two words only take a second to say. Its not fair that it should only take a second to recompense years. Years of support, of help, of sacrifice. You held me when I cried and woke you in the middle of the night. You picked me up and cleaned out my skinned knee when I screamed. You kept a patient smile on your face while I missed catching hundreds of baseballs, followed by a "sorry," and your "it's ok." You've sat through hours of questions about great and small. You've guided me, taught me, and been an example to me. You've stayed, never leaving my side, in my irresponsibility and my insolence. In my frustration and my anger, you've comforted. And in the newest chapter of your tireless support, as I falter in my stare down with failure, you stand up and stare it down. Not only that, you teach me how to do the same, inspire me to reach for new ideas, new plans--I'm not staring down failure, I can't even see it any more. You come with words that uplift and embraces that fortify. How can I diminish this down to a simple two words? Maybe it will fit in three.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Thunderstorms

I am not one for the summer months; leave me with the cleanness of a snow-covered lawn and the mist of exhaled breath. I'm in love with the crystal blue of a winter sky (and this from a color-blind kid). But there is one bit of weather, one little piece of the science of creation that I love most--thunderstorms. It's getting to just about that season and it always whips me back to childhood. I'm racing my bike against the blowing wind, black clouds are billowing overhead and just the faintest of drops land, sparsely, on my neck and arms. I'm riding on the cusp of chaos; risking the downpour that is imminent.
I suppose I have it backwards though. Your supposed to love the warm sunny days where you can sit outside and enjoy the view. Don't get me wrong, sun shining through the green leaves of a maple tree is picturesque, but it's not something to really sink your teeth into. It's nature relaxing, creation dreaming; having a taste of the impossible calm. But I still love my unpredictable storms; perhaps its the reader in me (or maybe even the writer) searching for conflict, for the real battle of life.

The looming approach of darkness is exhilarating. I love sitting outside feeling the pressure drop, watching the clouds move, nature is in motion. I am watching the world actively move. I am seeing the expanse of the sky summon its strength, show its own emotion. The pain and raw conflict and chaos of what the world is stands before my eyes. Then the drops begin to fall faster and faster from the battle-worn and bruised skies. It becomes a veil of transparent grey that covers everything. Then the heavens open for just a flash of time and I see the blazing glory of lightning. Followed abruptly by a crash and roll, then a low, resonant grumble. I can feel the deep vibration shake and pound my chest. And when I go to sleep that night--listening to the drops fall from the darkness above; seeing, in my dreary sight, shadows in a brilliant flash; hearing the sky speak to me in his earth-shaking tones--I know I am not alone in my anguish, my chaos, my passion.