Field Note No. 12 After the Fireworks

When I was a little girl, I noticed something.

Every Fourth of July, we would gather to watch the fireworks.

We would tilt our heads toward the sky, waiting for the next explosion of color.

The night was loud. Bright. Full of celebration.

And then, somewhere in the day or two that followed, I remember the rain.

I do not know if it happened every year.

I only know that it happened often enough for a little girl to start expecting it.

Tonight, after hearing the fireworks fade into the distance, I saw lightning flicker across the horizon and caught myself smiling.

I knew you were coming.

It made me realize something.

I have always been a student of patterns.

Not just the big moments everyone celebrates.

The moments that come after.

The atmosphere after the applause.

The quiet after the conversation.

The shift after the breakthrough.

Maybe that is why I have become so fascinated with roots instead of fruit.

Anyone can admire the bloom.

I am curious about the conditions that created it.

The fireworks may capture our attention.

But the rain is what nourishes what comes next.

Maybe wisdom is not found only in the spectacular.

Maybe it is found in paying attention long enough to notice what usually follows.

Where in your life are you celebrating the fireworks?

And are you also making room for the rain?

Invisible Crown leadership begins within.
Authority is not declared. It is embodied.