In the clearing stands my boxers . . .(subtle simon and garfunkel reference)

I had planned to spend the afternoon outside soaking in some vitamin d the natural way, and I did for a while, cleaning out my car sporting only my blue boxers. I live up in the woods, so I can do that sort of thing. But about 2:30 or so a big honking thunderstorm came over and put an end to my natural vitamin absorption. We were under a thunderstorm watch at the time, so as I always have, I felt an obligation to stay out and watch, staring up at the angry lightning-spitting clouds while the wind rustled through my boxers and the trees that surround the yard. It was awesome.

Had anyone seen me I am quite sure he or she would have assumed I had gone stark-raving mad.

And yet, standing in the rush of the cool, buffeting wind, looking up at the tops of the big oaks and hickories being whipped about as if they were mere seedlings, and becoming engrossed in the swirling white and grey clouds streaked with bursts of jagged white-hot light, I felt more sane than I had felt all week. Even in only my boxers. Maybe especially in only my boxers.

It reminded me that this play that I find myself in is set on a much larger stage than my piddling little part requires.

And somehow there is great comfort in that. Even in only my boxers.

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