Watching the Crow fly

Today I sat in the park, gazing up at the sky. It was warm and sunny, like the calm after the storm last night. Except there was no thunderstorm last night. At least, not in regard to the weather. Last night I was almost at breaking point. It takes a lot to get me to that stage. It is completely unlike me to start an argument, to shout and slam doors and swear. it took a few months of suspicion, a friend's confidence, and overhearing a phone call which finally pushed me over the edge. I can't prove what I know about my husband's behaviour, and I didn't mention it explicitly. But he knows my suspicions, and he knew what to do about them. He went out for a while, and when he came home, I knew without having to ask that he is wholly mine again. I sobbed in his arms while he held me. There were tears in his eyes when he told me he was sorry, and that he loved me more than anything in God's creation In the park, a crow flew past as I watched the sky. It flapped it's wings once and glided for so long, so far, without even a tremble through its feathers. Such a slow descent, all around the park and across the field, until it neared the tree on which it wanted to land. Then just a few flaps to gain height before it landed, serene and still again. I realised we had much in common. I can glide for months, ignorant of the breeze and the noise and the threats. But every so often, I need to flap my wings to get me where I want. Then I am calm and serene once again.