It's a perfect sort of blustery fall day. Leaves wave and shudder, causing red and gold swirls. Herds of clouds trundle across the sky, darkening and lightening, splitting and re-grouping. Brilliant sunshine breaks out and retreats. Curtains of rain cause momentary scurrying, winshield wipers and headlights.
Driving about on errands, I look north across the valley in hopeful expectation. Double arches of broad colored bands reward me with a shimmering stance.
I see why rainbows are such symbols of hope. They sparkle like they don't belong to the land.
As a child, even after hearing about the pot of gold at the end, I always dreamed of climbing rainbows, just following them to the other world where I was sure they led. Later, I thought of them less as objects and more as other sentient creatures, visiting us poor, hapless humans. I thought of stumbling into the rainbow people and speaking to them of secrets.
I still look at them and consider them less a phenomenon and more a visitor. Where did they come from and where do they go?
Someday, I'd like to go with them.
Causes Michael Seidel Supports
Kiva, Women's International League for Peace and Freedom, Propublica.org, Doctors Without Borders, GreaterGood.com