My grandmother told me you could tell how far a storm was by counting the seconds between the lightning and the thunder. Each second equaled a mile. To this day, I still find myself absently minded counting, not knowing if five seconds is safer than four or if lightning knows the distance of a mile.

Forked lightning rips the quilt of black clouds. One. A piece of my heart screams how much pain can humans inflict upon another, especially a child? Two. Zeus throws a jagged lightning bolt. Do I start counting again? Another face touches my heart. Three. The sirens start to scream. Four. I send feathers of safety to the siren’s destination. The thunder’s roar scatters the rain like drops of mercury.

Two lightning forks leave a path upon the weary sky. One. I could not even answer the question posed- “Why should I have hope?” Two. Would that I had had the pelting rain to shield my single tear that fell as I met the questioning gaze. Three. As my single tear nestled in the wrinkles of my aged face, another tear sped quickly down the younger face.

The thunder gathers back the blackened clouds. Evening sky returns.

I still don’t know if five seconds is safer than four or if lightning knows the distance of a mile. Maybe that’s the Whisper I’m trying to hear over the thunder. You don’t know. You just sit in the pause of two different energies filled with unknowing. In the stillness of the unknowning sitting, comes the Whisper, “There’s a rainbow somewhere.”

One. Two. Three. Four. Unknowing becomes the knowing that I don’t need to get up and see if there’s a rainbow.

*image from National Geographic

http://images.nationalgeographic.com/wpf/media-live/photos/000/208/cache/cloud-ground-lightning01_20837_600x450.jpg