Save me, O God,
for the waters have risen up to my neck.
I am sinking in deep mire,
and there is no firm ground for my feet.
I have come into deep waters,
and the torrent washes over me.
I have grown weary with my crying; my throat is inflamed;
my eyes have failed from looking for my God. Psalm 69:1-4
The gentle breeze is fiercely thrust aside by a howling beast that rips at my windows, raging. Clouds scuttle across the sky casting darkness upon part of the world while the gold brightness of the sun yet claims its hold on the morning, piercing through the storm to pour illuminating fire on a single maple shimmering its leaves with otherworldly candescence.
Rain splatters against the house and then is gone, leaving behind arbitrary puddles that I navigate around as I leave the safety of my home. The windshield of my car is covered with the bits of life that have been blown asunder.
And what will shield me from the storm of this week?
I do not enter it gracefully, but with trepidation. Can I keep some of myself back? Can I, untrusting, stay upon the shore, the outskirts, the edge?
Perhaps I have the strength for that, to keep myself apart. But apart is the more fearful place, I know.
copyright © Anne E. Kitch 2012