Instead of writing yesterday afternoon, I spent a good amount time just just standing outside, watching and photographing clouds as they moved in over the lake. There appeared to be fronts colliding in front of my eyes. I wanted to write a poem about it, but have yet even begin to find the words to truely capture what I saw, so perhaps, this is an occasion where images need to tell the story. I don’t think my photos truely do it justice, but they will suffice until I find the right words.
These pictures were taken after the darkest cloud had passed over us. They were much prettier when they were past me instead of approaching or above me. Like I usually do, I am seeing a metaphor between these and my writing. I received about 13 rejections this week, but this morning, the Flash Fiction Press accepted one of my stories. Rejections can be like dark storm clouds, but they always pass, leaving something beautiful in their wake.