Same Damn Thing, Different Weather

So, there's the River that is the physical, powerful body of life and the universe and everything.
Within and around that river, there are biological beings- plants, fishes, slimy salamanders, birdieses, and of course all manner of exo-skeletal-ed bug/craw fish type gizmos- these are "us" as well as "them".
Well, on top of  and all around and in between, there is the Weather, the emotional/spiritual/energizing invisible but very affecting and utterly non-controllable spin that is put on things in and around the River.

You feed yourself the good, right stuff, you take yourself out for exercise, and you give yourself plenty of sleep, and you should, in theory, grow up to be a big beautiful...something.
However, some time's of the "year" in and around the River, the weather is not, shall we say, the very most conducive to pretty little poppies or begonias. The weather can be devastating, and if you aren't resistant, if you are not adaptable- if you do not figure out a way to store water for the dry, windy days, and hunker down and hold on to something during the flood days, you will be gone in the blink of an eye, absorbed into the scenery- made use of in some other way.

I've been feeling the weather.
Some storm is raging somewhere, I just know it. Hopefully it's not one of those internal storms when left un tended leaves a big mess which comes out sideways later. I've been trying to accept the internal atmospheric fluctuations of life on the River. I find it is easier to accept early on and ask questions later.
I scowl sometimes while I walk Maggs, thinking about "okay, well, that didn't kill me. In fact, its been good." But scowl on, "What now?"

This, that, the other aren't making sense, aren't "clicking", such and such just doesn't feel right- something over there is coming up and I don't understand just what the flying fuck I'm suppose to do other than stand around with a shovel/trowel/cup-o-joe/broom in my hands till I can't not react to it.

In nature, the hawk swoops, kills, eats, preens, poops, preens.
In the River, human interaction is clumsy, slow- clueless even to the best of us.
The thing that never changes is the fact that nobody can know another's heart. We just have to focus on the changes in our own, prepare for foul weather, enjoy the breaks in the rain.
Try and share our own truth, it's the only way we will truly know if anyone out there understands or appreciates "it", or a similar analogy to our truth.
We can not peer deeply or patiently enough, into the River, to find the answers to the questions which come from our hearts.
Sometimes we attract sturdy old beach pines to shelter us, rattly snakes to hide in our bushy twigs, and we aren't as vulnerable to the storms, or at least, we aren't alone in our awkward vulnerability.