Perhaps my rage can be a thing of great beauty?
Perhaps the blood red of the sky was an early indicator of the heat of the day to come. Where strong men fell to the harshness of too much heat.
Nature has a way of reducing us to helplessness. Be it the ocean throwing a temper tantrum, the wind a hurricane, the chill of cold, or the heat, sucking life and energy.
And all the while, nature continues to be so beautiful. Her storms, her fire, her ice cold.
Am I seen for my beauty when I am apoplectic with rage? Withdrawn in a frosty chill? Arching my back in frustration? Is the blood red of my anger a transmission that arcs across the Universe?
Perhaps if my anger is for greater reasons than the driver who stole my parking spot, the friend who did not comply with my expectations.
Perhaps when I am enraged with how my brothers and sisters treat the Earth, the litter I encounter each day on the beach, our wanton throw-away world…perhaps then my anger is a beautiful thing.
