“We have ever-changing skyscapes” said a family member in Albuquerque, NM. “Walk around the block and the weather will change.” Monsoons let loose in one part of the city while the sun shines in another. The wind dances gently with a nurturing breeze and then in minutes erupts into a frenzy that rearranges the clouds. It’s grand when it does what we want and unsettling when dark clouds crowd the horizon and bolts of lightning start.
There’s a U.S. flag in the RV park where we are staying. I’ve seen it wave in the sunshine and in storms, and sometimes lay still when the weather is more stagnant. I’ve been pondering the state of our country. Every day I see both signs of threatening impact and the potential for winds of change to transform who we are.
I watch the sky. I watch the news. At night my dreams are restless as if being bantered about.
After a thunderstorm, things calm down a bit and there is an opening for fresh air and perhaps some new perspectives.
As I write these final words, the clouds have burst open. The hardest rain we’ve experienced is pounding on our trailer roof and dampening the books laying just inside the window screen. It caught us by surprise; we thought it had blown through. It’s dark and we can hear, but not see, what is happening.
These are times for deep listening. To open spaces in our heart that seem fragile when exposed. To acknowledge that not all parts of ourselves or of our country are beautiful landscapes. There are scarred places that have something to teach us if we are willing to look at them boldly and with vulnerability.
I don’t know what the clouds all mean. I do know they are always changing. Somewhere in those changing spaces is where hope lives.
Post by Diane