A couple of years back, all at once the electrical appliances stopped, and the soft hum that I never notice except for its absence, ceased. Soon after I heard a cacophony of sirens approaching closer and closer to our neighborhood and then stop nearby. I grabbed my camera, walked a few blocks to a main street, turned right and this is what I saw: a broken utility pole sitting relatively intact but off its base and several feet away. It must have been hit by a fast-moving car or truck.
Some days I feel like that. Hit by a fast-moving vehicle, knocked from my base, broken.
It is storming here, although mostly the day is gray with the unrelenting sound of thunder, which terrifies my little dog to no end. I know this because he peers at me from behind the recliner next to me. I suppose it is the safest place he can find in this room.
I woke up with a heavy heart for reasons difficult to discern. I much prefer to know why I feel bad, then I stand a chance at battling the dark foe. I have a couple of ideas about what burdens me, neither of which I can do much about.
Arthur and I are off to see my parents today. I hope the little dog doesn’t have a heart attack or nervous breakdown in the car as I drive under stormy thunder-filled skies. There’s no place to hide in the car. But neither can I leave him home alone and afraid. Sometimes our choices are not good.
I hope the skies are blue, and the sun is shining where you are today.