It was already raining lightly when I left the office late Friday afternoon. By the time I merged onto the interstate, the gentle summer rain had turned into a gushing torrent of water. Somewhere along I-459 south of Birmingham, I could barely seen the tail lights of the car creeping along in front of me.
Traffic was bumper to bumper in all three lanes of each direction. We inched along dangerously. I was afraid of what I might hit as I kept going forward, but I was equally afraid of being hit in the rear if I didn’t move fast enough.
I simply couldn’t see what was going on — and I was afraid that trying to pull off the road was no better since I couldn’t see anything and others couldn’t see me.
So I moved along blindly — barely moving — as buckets of rain continued to fall from the sky.
And then I saw something that seemed like a faint shaft of light in the sky off to my right. The rain still beat down furiously, but where was that light coming from?

The child in me never learned to feel at home as part of a group
Little remains in me of the person I was when I married for lifetime
If you want to honor military dead, stop supporting unnecessary wars
Shouldn’t standards be higher for those trusted to enforce our laws?
Want to feel happier, healthier? Try cutting back on deception
Life is like flying a plane as you assemble it from a box of parts
Briefly: Sufjan Stevens album always evokes old feelings about my mother
Goodbye, Lucy (2012?-2025)
AUDIO: Without mastering ideas, we’re all blind leading the blind