Last week I headed down I-80 in the opposite direction, toward Iowa City. Nervous, both over the destination – a writer’s workshop – and the journey, a heavy rainstorm.
As I drove, I listened to a recording of poems by Rumi. Halfway to Iowa City, the storm turned electrical. As a bolt of light tore the sky in half, illuminating the crest of my road, Rumi said “love is both lightning and the “ah” we say after.”