and from my tiny home under the clover, i can look up and see that maybe the sky is clearing and the rains have stopped. the whole town has put up black umbrellas; some are bent from the wind and most are taller than they are wide, so it’s still easy to get caught in the downpours. and i can see – over there – the brown fulton birdcage umbrellas all set up, rounded bubbles – but everything that has been drenched is now drying a bit and it’s all verdant green and lush. it’s time to carry on.

i’m leaving my little home under the clover to go back out into the world. to see its giantness and feel the arriving sun and appreciate the balance of sunsoaked and rainsoaked, to try and understand the relationship between lack and abundance, to navigate the seesaw of positive and negative.

i see that it is quite possibly all about perspective. for the birds flying over our umbrella-world don’t see us here and, from our vantage point under the umbrella canopy, we don’t see them there. it’s only in the open field that we see each other, in the open field we can discern and hear each other, in the open field we can find truth.

my perspective has gotten lost from time to time, focused merely on my own parched landscape and drenching rainstorms. stepping out, looking around, taking stock – i see past the tiny market-umbrella-town in which i’ve taken shelter.

and i am no longer silent. there is much to be said, much to be learned.

and in the sun i’ll revel. and in the rain i won’t carry an umbrella.

it’s time.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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