In my imagination lives an image of a pilot, sitting in a cockpit, seeing an approaching storm. Dark clouds have been on my horizon and I find myself plunging into heavy gray. As any good pilot would, I attempt to steer toward the sun and make plans to go to the zoo with friends.
The morning arrives with heavy drops of water, wind shield wipers required. Plans change, path diverts. We head to Cal Academy instead. We are turned away, membership card expired and new one has not yet arrived. The raindrops morph into heavy fog, so we let go of the plan and pop the babes into the wagon to wander. We pick up coffee and meander toward Stow Lake, promising the littles turtles and ducks.
In and out of the wagon, dirt here, dandelions there. We walk, we chat, we sip. Giggles and smiles come as our itty bits find yellows to collect and bark to pile.
We walk and smile and sip and the clouds seem to clear. Weight lifts from my shoulders. What seemed like a chain of unhappy accidents turns into exactly what I need.
We arrive home damp from the fog, coated in mud, and smiling.