Black clouds swoop in from the west.
Thunder clouds pile high above them,
shining in the late sun.
There is just enough pollution to give the sky color.
In the distance, thunder rumbles.
Here on earth, you savor it all,
a glass of wine in your hand as the boat plies the water,
uncertain which clouds will conquer the sky.
The lake is choppy and the boat rolls against the waves.
That is part of the magic, the uncertainty
and how it teaches you to dance and roll,
no matter the weather.
About this poem
One of the things that has come to define me the past decade or so, is a return to resiliency, a feeling that no matter what happens, I’ll figure it out. Those around me that like a plan for everything are probably driven mad by my lack of worry if plans don’t work out. But life has taught me plans almost never work out, but learning to dance with the waves, does.
At least for me. All boogaloo and shingaling.
PS: The picture was taken on Lake George in New York State.