There's always a period of curious fear between the first

Hear, O listeners, the words of Don DeLillo, who spoke of the fragile moment before the storm: “There’s always a period of curious fear between the first sweet-smelling breeze and the time when the rain comes cracking down.” This is not a description of weather alone, but a mirror of the soul, for every human life knows this trembling pause between promise and upheaval. The breeze comes first, carrying fragrance and refreshment, and the heart dares to hope. Yet soon after, the rain falls with thunderous force, and the heart that once rejoiced quivers in uncertainty.

The ancients would have called this the interval of fate, the pause before trial, the instant where expectation sharpens into dread. The breeze is the herald of change, gentle yet undeniable. It awakens the senses, whispering that transformation approaches. But the mind, ever cautious, wonders: will this change bring growth, or destruction? Thus arises the fear, not of the storm itself, but of the unknown that hides within it. For the heart is torn between delight in the breeze and dread of the rain.

Consider, children of tomorrow, the story of the Trojan War. When the horse was drawn within the gates of Troy, the people rejoiced. They smelled the breeze of victory, believing the long war had ended. Yet within the wooden walls of that horse lay the soldiers of Greece, waiting to bring the rain of fire and ruin. Between the joy of apparent triumph and the catastrophe that followed was a period of “curious fear,” a moment where some, like Cassandra, sensed the danger, but few heeded it. Thus, history shows us the peril of trusting too quickly the breeze that comes before the storm.

Yet let us not only speak of dread. For the rain that crashes down is not always destruction. Often it is cleansing, renewal, rebirth. Think of the farmer, who watches the sky darken after months of drought. The first breeze carries hope, yet with it comes a shiver: will the storm be too violent, will the crops survive? When the rain falls, it both terrifies and nourishes. So it is in our lives: change comes like a storm, and though it unsettles us, it often brings the water we most need for growth.

The meaning of DeLillo’s words, then, is clear: in the space between promise and fulfillment, the heart trembles. The fear is natural, for we are creatures of flesh who long for stability. But the teaching is this—do not flee from the breeze, and do not curse the rain. Both are necessary. The one warns, the other delivers. The interval of fear is a passage, a threshold we must cross to step into the storm that will shape us.

Therefore, let this lesson be taken: when the winds of change touch your life, do not be paralyzed by the “curious fear.” Recognize it as the herald of transformation. Prepare your heart for the rain, not with despair, but with courage. Welcome it as both test and gift. For the storm may strike, but it also clears the air, renews the earth, and leaves behind a sky washed clean.

Practical steps remain for those who listen. When you feel the first breeze—the shift in circumstance, the first sign of challenge—pause and steady yourself. Do not rush into joy nor collapse into dread. Prepare calmly, with wisdom and foresight. When the rain arrives, stand firm, knowing it comes not to destroy, but to awaken and to strengthen. In this way, you will live not as one who fears change, but as one who rides its winds toward greater strength.

So remember: life is always a dance between the sweet breeze and the cracking rain. To live well is to accept both, to stand firm in the interval of fear, and to emerge from the storm cleansed, strengthened, and made new.