Red hot, burning in my ears.  Where did this come from?  Silent streams have turned once again into raging waters.  Millions of droplets individually will do no harm.  But combined together, they form a current too strong to withstand.

Where is the forecaster to warn of impending storms?  Why can I not see the threatening clouds and take cover before the downpour begins?

Even a drizzle can wash away a simple chalk drawing.  If not wash it away, it will spot it like distracting splotches on my watercolor masterpiece.

I must stem the tide.  I must control the forces of nature so they will work for me and not against.  I would not be devoid of emotion, for compassion and charity would also diminish.  I must not think that my failings are too powerful and must be kept at bay at every turn.

But, how to turn this current into a force for good?  How to divert this stream that it may irrigate and nourish the crops instead of destroying them by flood?

I reach forth and take hold of the controls of the canal.  Slowly, the water rises.  Not for destruction but to lift a boat to higher ground.  And then a sister ship arrives from the opposite side.  Once the one is safely on its way, the next enters in.  Gently the water recedes, gently, I let her down.  It takes time, this rising and lowering.  But there is no risk of rage or flood or damage.

Slowly the water can carry me forth.  When a change in course is needed, I can do so safely.  I can see far down the river to the white water ahead.  By turning early, there will be no jolting or tipping – no fear for the safety of my passengers.

Let me ride the water, floating gently and surely.  Let me breathe in the freshness of the cool of the day.  Let the sound of the birds sing anthems to my aching ears – to cool the fire that rises – to put out the flame that is only there to burn and not guide.