Yesterday driving home from a flying trip to Brisbane, Cootamundra Wattle started playing on my phone. (I'll let that settle for a bit and give the non-country music fans among you time to click away). One stanza stuck with me. It summed up exactly how I've been feeling this past week: my anger at the injustice of the world, my sadness at the violence being perpetrated by humans on other humans. My frustration at bureaucracy. Overwhelmed. I've done a bit of crying this past week and I know I'm not alone.
Stupid super moon sent the whole world crazy.
So when the Big Sister got home from school, we went outside. We watched Daddy working in the back paddock and discovered the girls new best favourite play thing; a big eucalypt that had come down. Soaked with the weekend rain, the unrelenting wind proved too much for it. They made club houses and pretended to be strong men and I took more photos of them than I did of the turf (which is what I was supposed to be doing) and we waved to Daddy and he waved back.
And this morning I woke up and I felt better. That John Williamson might just be onto something. While I'm not about to abandon reading the news, I'm going to be mindful of how much of a soaking I give myself because there's no stopping the wind in August.