Where are you today?

It was snowing Monday.  I arrived to meet with my supervisor/therapist/consultant to find the building surrounded by fire engines and ambulances.  I was early, so I sat in my car, waited for the emergency vehicles to leave.  Halfway through the meeting, one question shut me down.  I hate it when that happens.  It doesn*t happen often, but sometimes there is a perfect storm.  This is not the kind of perfection I prefer. Yesterday was better.  Today is better still.

Where are you today?

She asks.

She knows weather changes

Throw me off kilter.

Where are you today?

Are you feeling more or less

Balanced?

It*s a lot better today

I say

Yesterday was awful.

I*ll bet it was

My trainer says.

Let*s see what we can do

Today.

Aftermath

The storm promised big, potentially harmful, things, and, at least here, delivered rain and now, blue skies.  Today I can see and think straight.  Yay!  In a little while I will drive south to interview for a volunteer job which would use the training and gifts I have to offer.  There are more ways to be paid than money.

The storm

Promised big things

And left:

Well-watered ground,

Blue skies,

Cleared thoughts,

A world set

For green and growth.

The storm

Promised big things

And left us

With today.

It*s hard to tell the difference

We left to take our daughter to camp out west to Oregon, Illinois, just as this morning*s storm broke. It was sunny and blue and hot in Oregon.  A huge statue of Sacajawea stands on the banks of the Rock River (or is it Mary?)(hard to tell).  As we drove home we began to see the trees down, huge swathes of suburb where electricity was out. We got home to find our home untouched, our trees safe, our house with electricity, the sun shining... almost as if nothing had happened, a few sticks on the lawn as reminders, if, of course, we allow ourselves to be reminded.  Sometimes we choose to forget.

We left town at the beginning

Of the worst of it,

Drove west and north

To blue sky,

Boats on the Rock River.

Sacajawea stood high

On the eastern bank

Or maybe it was Mary.

From a distance

It*s hard to tell the difference.

We returned through blinking red lights.

Limb after limb after limb

Littered the streets.

We arrived home finally

To full power,

Sun,

A few sticks on the lawn

As if two squirrels

Had been playing

In the backyard ash tree.