So focused on the crater I’m standing in, I am constantly looking down. As it rains, the crater fills to my ankles and I yearn for the days when I stood on solid ground. I remember the days, even, when I stood uphill and it washed below, out of my sight. Probably into someone else’s crater.

The lip of my crater is too high for me to see the sunset over. My world gets dark without the delight of a goodnight. And when it rises again, it doesn’t reach me until it’s hot and beaming as if there is a magnifying glass between us. 

Low down, I feel. I jump to see over, I dig sideways for more space, I try to find footholds to climb out. But it seems that this crater and I will be joined for a while. 

And I stomp my feet and cry out and denounce these wretched circumstances. But then I remember, I can see over it. I can see past it. I know with certainty that something will come along to lift me out of it. And that I have everything I need here in my little crater. My fussing is little more than a slight against my good fortune. My fit is a mockery of those in bigger craters, neck deep with water. 

I can decry the crater or I can be thankful that I can see sky and that I am mostly dry and that someday I may be standing again at the top of the hill where the water shall roll off me and wash away. I had just been looking down the whole time when I could’ve been looking up.