Water has been on the news. Some places have too much. Others, not enough. I listened to a talk about the iterations of precipitation, such as hail and rain. The first is roiled within the upper atmosphere, tossed and frozen, tumbling and icing again. When it eventually reaches the earth it brings damage instead of relief. Rainfall, though, is kinder, if such an attribute can be ascribed to droplets. Its arrival is more often the blessing that vivifies a landscape. 

 

The speaker compared those two weather events to truth. The notions we learn in the Bible can cleanse us, and invigorate fruitful actions. Hopefully they arrive in moderation, so that we have time to absorb them. But when those certitudes gyrate in our minds, turning them over with the intent to indict others, they become ominous. 

 

Part of the cycle eludes our observation. As evaporation lifts water above our heads and it expands into clouds, moisture becomes the potential we need for another thirsty day.

 

In reading scripture, or in this case hearing it, true ideals float to the higher reaches of my mind. They hover there as potential. Last night as I was trying to sleep a thought that is technically accurate spun over and over, until it became an icy bullet.  

 

This morning the warmth of kindness has arrived. Pounding someone I love has lost its frosty appeal.