8.20.22 Storm

There is a storm brewing. A dark angry one that tries to tear apart anything in its path. It’s a storm I cannot control. Big trees fall to the ground while small ones remain. Bikes go flying, cars get overturned, debris gets jumbled together. There is no way to discern which way is up and which way is down.

This storm shall pass.

Was the storm perhaps better than the perfect sunshine, bestowing its rays over neatly trimmed grass on the perfect yard of the perfect house in the perfect neighborhood? Shining bright without a cloud in the sky?

That too has passed.

I don’t know what is waiting up ahead but I do know that this turbulent storm, that picks and destroys without rhyme or reason – this too shall pass.