On Tuesday, I mentioned that one magazine turned away a short story of mine.
The whole situation is a little like observing storm clouds. They darken, and you begin to wonder if they’re going to hail down on you like rejection notes.
Since I bought my camera, I’ve become very aware of the sky, and I now keep a close eye not only on menacing formations, but also on the very edges of the clouds. You see, there’s a phenomenon called iridescence, where, at the right angle of sunlight, the vapors take on the colors of rainbows.
They’re hard to photograph, because they form so closely in line with the sun above the cloud, which will flare in your lens.
The other reason to hold your breath and wait on the weather is what you see here, the rays and the blue beyond them. I live in one of the states where it’s common to say “Don’t like the weather? Wait fifteen minutes.”
The poet in me still breaks out. You know those weeks where things are consistently gray, and we trudge through the days without believing we’re really making progress? I like to console myself with the fancy that we’re getting overcast skies because the glory of heaven is too bright that day. Another one is that lightning says “Hallelujah,” and the thunder replies “Amen.”
As he promised us, God moves the weather along, and we enjoy the grace of sunlight again.
What do you tell yourself while you’re trying to keep a sharp eye out for joy? I’ve lived unthankfully, and let me tell you, it’s aging. These days I make a deliberate practice of giving thanks, and I don’t feel ninety anymore.
Oh, on Tuesday I wrote that I’d be looking for another market for that story? Well, on Wednesday, I found a call-out for submissions to an anthology, See those sun rays? They’re hope.