Tempest

Rain pours heavily outside the warmth of my room. The wind howls its anger through the cracks. Leaves scatter and trunks bend towards the lake to the east. The storm has come.

I hear nothing but the sound of cold water on earth, wood, steel and stone. It muffles the slightest whisper. I see not the tall structures of steel and glass on the horizon. The rain shrouds everything even the brightest light from afar. I feel not but the cold and bitter anger the world has held for our sins. But in the deafening cold silence, our filth washes away.

The Tempest - Ivan Aivazovsky, 1899

Lucky I am for in this chilly hour I am tucked between warm sheets, comfortable and safe. But where do others go to escape the downpour? Where do they go to find solace? Where do stray cats and dogs hide to escape Mother Nature's wrath? Where do birds go that once gracefully flew in our skies? Where do they hide?

I think of the things I have done. The things I will do. But what am I compared to a greater number that wrestles against the tempest to keep their homes and more importantly their lives? I think about them now and I worry.

In times when the world seems to pour all its tears on us, should we do nothing but weep with it? But not for long. From the pages of a book I read, I have found a line that is most apt in times of fear:

"You will only see the rainbow when you have learned to love the rain." 

Rain pours heavily outside the warmth of my room and the wind howls its anger through the cracks. But we should never let our hearts be troubled for long. There is always hope.