Where is shelter?
Spongy moss cushioned my feet for a perfect summer storm this afternoon, the weather and my mind matching in time. Clouds of identity, responsibility, everything, clumping up and looming thick.
Wife and daughter, niece and grandchild. Mama. Where is shelter?
And then there it was, with one wet toddler kiss, a giggle, the downpour. The break. The only way to know.
Thunder: Perfect Mind put it right — in us is multitudes. Layers of I am’s, all true, all part of the tempest within.
Sophia’s the only way to mind the storm, and she likes to dance in it, arms out, calling — ready to play in the rain.