It has been a stormy couple of weeks. A forecast of historic rain is with us until Sunday. As I attempted to exit the Subaru this morning, the wind pushed so hard against the door that it was all I could do to open it. Trees are falling before the main event. Tumolt comes in a moment.

Confusion and disorder are the present distress. ‘Clowns on the left of me, Jokers to the right, Here I am stuck in the middle with you.’

We seek shelter from the storm. A place to hide until the rage passes over.

‘A storm is coming,’ Old Man said. ‘I saw it in a dream,’ Old Man continued. ‘People hid in the woods, OM said. ‘The trees sheltered us and we could see the storm clouds pass by,’ OM observed.

‘Stay with me for a season,’ the Preacher said. ‘I have seen storms before,’ P noted. ‘Here we will speak of peace and sense of place,’ P advised. ‘Clear thoughts will be our guide, love for each other will be our doctrine,’ the Preacher assured. ‘While elected leaders seek their own welfare, we will seek the best for each other,’ the Preacher promised with sad eyes.

‘Who was in your dream?’ Old Woman asked? ‘Was there anyone we knew?’ Old Woman asked. ‘How bad was the storm?’ OW asked.

‘The high places were leveled as hurting people sought help from their political heroes, ‘ Old Man said. ‘The heroes turned their frightened eyes and gaping mouths from their people as they ran for their lives,’ Old Man said. ‘There was no sound of cymbals or the tinkling of brass from the leader…only manic fear,’ Old Man said softly.

‘The world is quiet now,’ Boy said. ‘No more fighting about slogans and tribal conflict,’ Boy said. ‘There is planting and harvesting…reading and discussion…everyone is interested in their neighbor’s welfare,’ Boy joyfully noted…