Our
local wild swans swim back and forth in front of the house, tipping their tails in the air occasionally to feed, as rainy hours
plod through the monochromatic day. Oblivious to the gray sky, the
elegant birds seem unmoved by its violent tears. From
behind glass, I watch the hard pellets cry down from above, dimpling the surface of
the lake. There is no pause in their onslaught.
Composed
and content despite the drilling raindrops, the swans carry on as usual. Such
behavior is instinctive for them in these conditions, we reason, and yet their
example is unmistakable. It reflects acceptance.
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