It was autumn. I was walking through a park, along a riverbank. Beneath an old oak tree with yellowing leaves, a man stood in a black coat. A light rain was falling. He was looking into the distance, toward the sunset, and tears were running down his cheek.
Walking past him, I wondered: why is he crying?
Are these tears of sadness? Or tears of joy? Or maybe — just something in his eye?
Rain is like tears — drops of water. They can pour like a stream, or fall in slow, rare drops. Rain can bring joy — new growth in the fields. Or it can bring flooding.
Rain is an element that means nothing on its own. You have to look at what it brings.
I understood this when my daughter was three.
The so-called "terrible threes" — not a day passed without tears. Sometimes for no reason at all. It drained me. It made me angry.
I thought to myself: you only fear the rain when it threatens to flood. If my daughter isn't in pain — maybe this is just a light shower.
A seed won't sprout in drought. So maybe tears are just the rain that helps the seeds of parenting grow.
A child's tears aren't always the parent's fault. Sometimes — it's just rain. And rain passes.
And somehow, that thought took the weight off. The anger just... wasn't there anymore.
Soon, the three-year crisis passed. The sun came out again on my daughter's face.
We talked about how rain helps the grain grow in the fields — and how that grain becomes bread.
We talked about how rain fills the lakes, and how animals come to drink.
How rain cools the beehives — and makes it easier for the bees.
The first post can be found here: Ancestral Wisdom in Our Home.