A splendid day dawned.
Radiant sun, blue sky and a fresh breeze caressing the morning.
I decided to go for a walk, feeling light as a blue dragonfly.
I arrived at my usual path, on the banks of the river and, suddenly, as a poem that my father recited says, “the heavy brown clouds burned…” (La Nacencia-Luis Chamizo)
A gigantic, heavy black cloud settled in the landscape, and I think also in my spirit.
A sadness, a little pain, as my mother used to say.
I quickened my pace.
Dense drops began to fall, and I let them get me wet.
I decided to continue without hesitation.
Miraculously, the sky began to open, and the storm clouds dispersed.
Here in Calgary, there is a saying, if you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes and it will change.
I think it worked for my spirit too.
I returned home with a clear horizon.
I took a deep breath.
Everything looks clearer, everything is more beautiful, after the storm.
The seed also resurfaces and calm sets in.
I don’t know if these lines make much sense, but that little pain I mentioned is what I think we, those of us who have left our homeland, carry in our pockets and that sometimes resurface, like in recent days.
My mother-in-law who was German taught me, I think the only phrase I know in that language: “Nach dem Sturm scheint die Sonnel” (After the storm, the sun shines)
Others call it hope.
“Never despair, even in the darkest afflictions,
for clean and fertilizing water falls from the black clouds.”
Miguel de Unamuno
