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Looking Up

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In those days, did I know, then? Did I know what was to come, how it would all unfold, how it was futile to worry about what could not be changed? Of course not. How could anyone? A vague sense of worry or unease came with every thunderstorm, a gnawing, nagging bit of fear with every front. Yet after the storms always came the sudden sun, sometimes unexpectedly, and always welcome, and we rejoiced in it. How I wish I’d known then how easy it would be, at least as far as the things I worried about. There would be heartache more real and damaging than anything imagined at that point.

But we did not know that then.

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