I’ve always wondered how she knows.  After a particularly arduous morning, the sun will nudge its way between two heavy clouds, giving you just enough warmth to make it to work.  When an emotional dry spell has sapped away your creativity, a few steady drops of rain can help you dance slowly with a mug of hot tea in front of an open window.  When you least expect it, Mother Nature will tenderly place her head on your chest, listening for your heartbeat and feeling the soft rise of your lungs yearning for each breath.

With your moleskin planner chocked full of important dates, dreadful appointments, and grueling meetings you have regretfully stacked one on top of the other, you hold that majestic pen in your hand and with it, all of the decision-making power in the world.

And then the snow falls, first timidly.  Then, with a commanding wave of white, the town is unrecognizable, a child’s blanket being pulled up before he was ready for bed.  The streets are reverently quiet and that moleskin planner becomes lost in the abyss.

I’ve always wondered how she knows.  How she knows when we’re in over our heads, when our schedules are wound a little too tight, and when we need this chaos, this remarkable sense of disarray to serve as a subtle reminder that we are not as in control as we believe, and quite frankly, neither do we need to be.

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