In the Storm

Weather predictions are already being posted for the terrible storm that will hit the Midwest on Thursday. It's predicted to be the worst storm of the season. We've already been hit with terrible storms this year. Wind, rain, power outages. Sigh. I really hate "waiting" for this kind of storm. It isn't the same as a winter storm. For a winter storm I prepare to hunker down and hibernate, anticipating a snow storm that closes schools and stops the world in its place. But this kind of storm, a late summer gail, no. That I do not want. Well, especially because predicting it this far out means it will either be really awful, or fizzle into nothing.

So. Because I can do nothing about this pending storm. I offer a poem. Another beautiful poem by Mary Oliver. On Monday, Nov. 26 Diane, from RevGals is going to lead a discussion on this book through the RevGals blog site. I am so excited!

So, here is a foretaste of what is to come. Get the book, "Thirst" and read ahead. It can be ordered right off the Revgals website through Amazon.

In the Storm

Some black ducks
were shrugged up
on the shore.
It was snowing

hard, from the east,
and the sea
was in disorder.
Then some sanderlings,

five inches long
with beaks like wire,
flew in,
snowflakes on their backs,

and settled
in a row
behind the ducks -
whose backs were also

covered with snow -
so close
they were all but touching,
they were all but under

the roof of the ducks' tails,
so the wind, pretty much,
blew over them.
They stayed that way, motionless,

for maybe an hour,
then the sanderlings,
each a handful of feathers,
shifted, and were blown away

out over the water
which was still raging.
But, somehow,
they came back

and again the ducks
like a feathered hedge,
let them
crouch there, and live.

If someone you didn't know
told you this,
as I am telling you this,
would you believe it?

Belief isn't always easy.
But this much I have learned -
if not enough else -
to live with my eyes open.

I know that what everyone wants
is a miracle.
This wasn't a miracle.
Unless, of course, kindness -

as now and again
some rare person has suggested -
is a miracle.
As surely it is.