Spring pollen coats the streets and sidewalks. Passing cars are thick with the sticky, yellow dust. Traffic is quieting and the air is thick with anticipation. Rain is coming. It delays and teases, but it’s on the way. I have to believe.
Days of dryness stretch into weeks of drought. Anxiety builds. Nerves are frayed. Will it come? Why the delay?
Waiting for rain is my teacher. Anticipation of sweet water hitting parched grass, clearing the air is poignant. When it comes it will be all the more welcomed because of the delay. Only in my mind is there a rush for things to be different than they are, right here and right now.
The tall oaks out my window have been here for 80-90 years and everything they’ve needed has come to them, in good time. Is it not the same with me? Is it not the same for each of us?