Sometimes it was like a gentle breeze. And just like that, she would put herself right in the middle of it, close her eyes, and let it wash over her, caress her thirsty skin, her thirsty soul. In these soft moments, she would turn toward it and let every inch of her face be kissed. Then she would soften too. She liked it when she could be soft.

Other times, it was like nothing. Like sitting in a motorless sailboat on the Chesapeake, dead in the water. Sails hanging like a fickle and wilted Hydrangea. Nothing. Just hotness. Just a visible shoreline with no movement toward it. Just sitting there in your own little boat with nothing but yourself and your boat, and all the things still not done. Pitiful.

Other times it was like a whole lot’a somethin’. Too much somethin’. Like it was on steroids, whipping everything up, setting everything in commotion. Not a far cry from those stormy winds that got up to terrifying and chasing the fall leaves around the garden. Those times it was like trying to catch a hurricane in a shot glass. Those times she could get just a glimpse of how much more of everything there was, and it was frightening. Those times she thought it better just to shut the hell up.

And sometimes… sometimes, it was amazing. It would come in strong, like it had purpose or something, and those sails would be up, just as strong and determined, pulled in taut and razor sharp. Then things would get going! Hold on! They would fly over those choppy circumstances! Those times made her feel like the queen of the Regatta! It didn’t happen much any more, but that’s what she was always hoping for…

Yeah, it’s about like that

with her and God

Sometimes