Promises to tomorrow 32 #wildtimes

The wind, the hail, the rain, all came falling at once. A tree branch finds its way onto wires. The miracle of electricity comes to a sudden end and with its life threatening potential the night descends into darkness. A torch, a touch, a back up battery, plan B and then plan C are activated and a crisis averted. What wild times we live in where the simplest signs of the first world – energy at the flick of a switch – becomes a holy grail to worship and behold. These are wild times.

Untamed and uncultivated parts of my life are offering themselves up to be ordered, classified and placed in captivity and becalmed. These are wild times and I am not certain they should be or even could be domesticated – it would be unworthy of the sheer size of the phenomena of the storm – the wind, the hail, the rain, all come falling with no regard to what trees or branches might get in the way.

The lads work through the night on ladders and in hi-vis gear find the damage and make repairs in double quick time. I am deeply grateful for their skill and speed. These are wild times.

The wind will not stop blowing, even when it is at its most quiet she still makes a sound, a whisper, a whimper.  The hail melts when it hits the ground, solid ice finding its way from cold clouds producing pellets of pain designed to leave a lasting imprint. The rain, soaking, drenching, pouring itself into gutters until the last drip finds its way into a drain to seep into the aquifer, replenishing a hidden reservoir.

The wind, the hail and the rain make their own promises to tomorrow. They promise to come when not expected, even though the charts predict their arrival. They promise to come to an end and rest before they come again. They promise visceral experience and to be their wild selves and bring down power lines in the dark, on cold nights. They promise to remind you of what it means to live an elemental life, one forged with the seasons and this is the end of winter and the solstice is over.

There are signs of spring under the earth, not yet visible and the last days of this season are not yet over. These are wild times. I am wild and I am in these times. I will work on the power lines in the dark as swiftly as I can to restore energy so we can all last a little longer. One more charge in the power pack providing fuel for the onward journey in the dance of the elements and what it means to live on the frontier of being human. It is not negotiable in the deal, to live and to love, fully, there is a price to paid in tears and suffering.

The day is coming, the nights are here. The fourth horseman is galloping with the wind, the hail and the rain, at his back. A little child is at the gate and holds the only promise to tomorrow worth hanging onto in these wildest of times. The wolf and the lamb lie down together.

There are beginnings, endings and everything in between. I am making a promise to myself and to tomorrow: to be in all of the times, the storms, the black outs and the rainbows, of this season. And another promise, to look lovingly for signs of Aslan on the move.

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