I haven’t looked at or listened to today’s weather forecast as of yet. I don’t know whether or not the pattern of the weekend will continue. We had several days of wonderful weather last week: diminished humidity, clear skies and comfortable temperatures. But then, a channeling of Gulf-driven clouds rolled in, sending us rain after rain. Far less, though, than if we had lived in the path of the hurricane that we have blamed for ruining picnics and cookouts several hundred miles inland. Inconvenience is so much less trying than tragedy and aggravation easier to negotiate than catastrophe.

So, as to what this day’s prediction is, I don’t know. I do know that the eastern sky is broken, a fracturing of clouds and streaks of blue. Parts of the sky are dark and threatening and other parts seem to hold some promise of clearing, a lifting of gleaming light caught in silvery strands. Whether we will have sun or storm, I have yet to learn.

What I do know is that he who calmed the storm, who formed the clouds, who cast aside the shroud of Death itself, has promised that he will never abandon, never forsake. I will take that promise over every other prediction, every day of the week.

H. Arnett
7/6/10