Rain

Walker Creek Ranch
Petaluma, California



The first riding day complete.
Assured that there would be no rain,
yet rain there was.
Just a mist at first, as we left the dining hall
heading for our group photo.

By the time the Traveler’s Prayer was
recited in Hebrew and then in English
and the shofar sounded to start the ride,
mist had become droplets.

Soon came cold driving rain
in our faces, penetrating
our gear, obscuring our goggles,
sloshing between our toes. The bright
greens and blues we anticipated for our departure
were muted tints of gray.

Through the understandable disappointment,
despite the fright that flew along side skinny tires
spinning across slick asphalt contours,
I felt alive in a unique way. I thought about my brother—
how the promise of blue skies has faded for him,
how doubt lingers at every turn in the road
how sublime comforts once taken for granted
are replaced with the will to take each day on its own terms,
rejoicing in what is, rather than bemoaning what could or should have been.

In that context this was a beautiful day.
The cold, the wind, the hazards—
all part of the uncertain journey
that is every day.