Dancing leaves

Nov 14, 2021

Good morning and happy Sunday! I hope the day has been a peaceful one for you so far. As I’m writing this, I’m watching the rain rushing from the sky down to the earth below. It’s fascinating how quickly it’s moving; drop by drop, it appears to be racing to its destination. I’m also watching people moving quickly to any form of shelter. I see someone huddled in the doorway of an apartment building. Is it theirs? I’m not sure, but I love that nobody is yelling at them to go elsewhere. We’ve all been caught in the rain after all. I see someone else running for the bus. Did they catch it? Ah, looks like they did. Shelter until the end of the line. I can also see the amber glow from windows of the homes surrounding mine. A more permanent sense of shelter, they’ll be there long enough to need the warm glimmer of a lamp. Maybe they’re reading, stopping for a moment to listen to the rain, appreciating that they’re safe and dry at home. Perhaps they’re looking out their window noticing the amber rectangle I’m also framed within.

I remember reading a post years ago from Humans of New York featuring a woman who was experiencing homelessness. She expressed that her greatest desire was to wake up one morning and swing her legs out from a warm blanket onto the soft carpet of her bedroom. She wanted to be able to go into her bathroom and turn on the faucet to a stream of running water that would allow her to clean her face. This has stuck with me for years and acts as an anchor to gratitude when I’m feeling sorry for myself. If I have a roof to shelter me from the rain and a window to look out at the street below, I should be thankful. I am thankful. I was able to put my feet into my slippers this morning. It’s those little earthly pleasures that we should acknowledge. That being said, we all deserve to have these basic needs met. I hope that woman has the warmest blanket, plushest carper, and most steady stream of water she could have ever imagined. I hope you have the things you need, too.

Maybe by the time this reaches you there will be no more rain falling from the sky. Maybe you’ll get to see the aftermath in the form of a child jumping carelessly into a pool of water on a brick sidewalk buckled by time. All I know for certain is…