Tomorrow I'll flip the calendar to face August, the month when typical life starts once again. That's not to say that life hasn't taken place during July, but rather that life in July isn't typical. It's not remarkably scheduled or structured; the days blur together in a humid haze.
The structured life -- life when I face work deadlines and actually know the day and date, as opposed to wondering "Is today Tuesday? Wednesday?" -- will come soon enough. But tonight, this last night in July, I simply want to reflect on a recent evening thunderstorm.
The sky grew dark as rain pelted the windows, and then our power flickered. The girls decided to sleep in the same bed. We're safer this way, one of them said. We're together.
The next morning I walked through our yard looking for damage. I picked up the lawn chairs that had blown into the yard and returned them to their rightful spot on patio.
I thought about the wisdom of my daughter's statement and the comfort gained from their sleeping arrangement.
What do we do when a storm comes? We gather more closely to those who love us the most, and we ride it out together.