I don’t do well with heights anymore. I can’t pinpoint when the issue arose, although there was that one Ohio State football game in the early ’90s. I was relatively — no, completely — hungover, and our seats were in C deck, where the pitch of the stands is, to risk understatement, extreme. The person in the row in front of you doesn’t sit so much in front of you, as below you. That was one long-ass game.
So it was with a modest amount of trepidation that I stepped out onto the edge last night — the cliff behind St. Joseph’s Academy overlooking the Rocky River. Whoa. Having just bonded with our new friend, the courageous sycamore, I heard the call of a mighty, dual-trunked oak calling me to come on over, pull up a root and stay a while. Slowly, the sky began to brighten. Exiting were the angry grey clouds and foreboding thunder that surrounded us as we paid homage to the sycamore. Also leaving, one by one, two by two, were members of our group.
Nestled at the foot of Oaky (by now we were on a first-name basis), I was beyond content. Only Ruth, Nicky and I remained, Nicky perched at what appeared to be, from my angle, about an eyelash and a half away from being too close to the edge. Girl, I thought, one false move and you’re really gonna screw up this retreat.
The wind picked up, and the westward sky offered a literal glimmer of hope that we’d see a sunset worth the wait. Nicky left. Meanwhile, the rustling and thrashing of 1,000 riverside tree branches drowned out the cicadas’ evening serenade. In unmistakable tandem, breezes and brightness intensified.
If this is the universe’s idea of a party, I must get on its mailing list. Ruth turned and smiled. I smiled back. Oaky was enjoying my enjoyment of the moment. He was far too hospitable and compassionate to acknowledge as much, but I know he was nonchalantly thinking, “Oh, kid, I’ve seen this a thousand times, this is nothing.”
By now, my senses were clamoring for my attention like teenagers at a Justin Bieber concert. The sight was stunning, the sounds so soothing. Now it was time to feel. I closed my eyes. A few seconds passed.
“Did you feel that?” Ruth soon asked. I opened my eyes. “I did.”.
The wind spat rain at us, just enough to raise Ruth’s concern over its effects on her drum. Ruth left. More wind. More brightness to the west, more sprinkles from the south. The trees on the west bank were really into it now, riding the wind and rallying the rain. “Let’s go rain! Let’s go rain!” One of the taller ones was really revved up, rocking and weaving, exhorting his fellow trees to make more noise, kinda like the guy with the rainbow Afro wig, the guy who sits behind home plate with the John 3: 16 sign in one hand and the $7 plastic cup of Bud Light in the other.
Their energy raced across the entire bank, groups lurching forward then to the right, some clumps leaning backward and listing to the left, others looking like they wanted to do the wave, but didn’t which direction to go. By now, they were all looking over-served.
Goosebumps layered my arms and legs and raindrops dotted my glasses, although by that time, I couldn’t see for anyway all the tears that glommed onto my eyes, thinking about Connie, Shirley, Mac, Terri, Jim, Mark, Neil, Darren, Mom, Dad, Lori, Uncle Bill and 78 other reasons that I’m on this retreat.
The rain was short-lived, but the curtain was just going up on the show on the horizon. Beams of soft silver rays shot through emerging puffs and wisps of clouds. A patch of grey clouds and a bank of white formed a “V” shape just as a small plane flew overhead. As if taking direction from a higher power, the pilot split the “V’ right at its elbow; right at the point of the arrow.
With daylight minutes waning and celebratory fireworks not the most fitting option, God took his palette of pastels in the palm of his hand, gently turned it over and stroked the sky. Back and forth, up and down, in figure-8s and curly queues, deepening the wisps and enriching the clumps of cotton balls with swaths of pink, splashes of purple, streaks of red.
The colors of a rally gone right.