Fine!

I canNOT do this unLESS you give me LIGHTENING!, I admonished the rain this morning. I left the French Doors on the porch open, lay a towel at the threshold, and fell into the couch with my book and dog to wait.

And then, not because I summoned it, but because that was the inevitable journey of the molecules and currents and electricity, the lightening and thunder announced themselves.

Thunder and lightening elicit a giddy powerlessness in me. Often my mind is a solipsistic chasm, and it takes something major to wake me. I like the large, unencumbered crack and fade of the thunder and the soft shush shushing of the rain. I like the smell of the atmosphere and dirt. I like how I am physically hemmed in, how it is impractical and perhaps dangerous to leave my current position in the midst of a storm. I like the coolness of the air on my cheek.

While studying for the bar, I often listened to thunderstorm soundtracks at maximum volume. The sounds are imminently soothing, and somehow the noise quiets the undercurrent of my consciousness so that I can let go and focus. A gray day leaves too much space for malaise and distraction; give me something BIG and distracting!

I love that nature is daunting but impersonal: mountains, storms, the ocean. Any engagement or encounter is new and fresh, and there is no expectation of my performance except to survive and stay alert and aware. Nature can't be conquered. If something is impossible, you cannot be terrible at it. Heather Fawcett

There are cobwebs in my window alcove, four loads of laundry to do, legal biz to wrap up, a shower to take, a kindergarten concert to attend. I missed a couple of days of meds (a med-vacation is a two-edged sword), so I am folding back into myself. I'm irritated and restless and impatient. My tea is tasteless. My body is too physical. My writing is inane. But if I keep my window open (which I sometimes do surreptitiously, so my husband won't notice ~ it's like having an affair with the pollen and wind), I hear the cardinals. If I carry my basil seedlings in and out of the house I feel the dampness in my socks. I am drawn outside of myself, back to the earth.