In my defense, when I left home this afternoon to drive to the Wetlands, it was sunny.
But only a few minutes later, it began to rain and the closer I got to the Wetlands, the heavier the rain fell.
I could see a curtain of it sweeping across the cow pastures just before the entrance to the Wetlands.
And yet, I didn't turn around.
You see I've lived long enough in Florida now, to know how the rain works. There are very few rainy days. There are mostly rainy moments, rainy minutes, rainy-blink-and-it's-over moments. I knew, even as I made my way onto the muddy and puddled unpaved road of the Wetlands, that the rain would likely be over soon.
And it was. About a hundred yards in, the rain stopped, shut down and the clouds moved on, allowing the sun to wake up from its nap and peek out.
It's almost too easy a metaphor for life. Do I really need to point it out to you?
How the storms of our lives can be frightening and blinding and seemingly never-ending, but that they do end, most times sooner than we expect.
I watched the vulture sit on top of the palm tree, wings spread, facing the wind, trying to dry off. I watched the ospreys return to feeding after a little grooming and a little blow-dry as they surfed the wind.
I watched the birds literally shake off the storm that had just passed through and then go about their day as if it had never happened.
If anything, the storm made them more active, not less, more adventurous, not shy. They didn't hide under the branches or cower among the reeds. They hunted, they groomed, they dried off, they lived.
But only a few minutes later, it began to rain and the closer I got to the Wetlands, the heavier the rain fell.
I could see a curtain of it sweeping across the cow pastures just before the entrance to the Wetlands.
And yet, I didn't turn around.
You see I've lived long enough in Florida now, to know how the rain works. There are very few rainy days. There are mostly rainy moments, rainy minutes, rainy-blink-and-it's-over moments. I knew, even as I made my way onto the muddy and puddled unpaved road of the Wetlands, that the rain would likely be over soon.
And it was. About a hundred yards in, the rain stopped, shut down and the clouds moved on, allowing the sun to wake up from its nap and peek out.
It's almost too easy a metaphor for life. Do I really need to point it out to you?
How the storms of our lives can be frightening and blinding and seemingly never-ending, but that they do end, most times sooner than we expect.
I watched the vulture sit on top of the palm tree, wings spread, facing the wind, trying to dry off. I watched the ospreys return to feeding after a little grooming and a little blow-dry as they surfed the wind.
I watched the birds literally shake off the storm that had just passed through and then go about their day as if it had never happened.
If anything, the storm made them more active, not less, more adventurous, not shy. They didn't hide under the branches or cower among the reeds. They hunted, they groomed, they dried off, they lived.
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