Uncertain Weather
Late in the day.
The clouds are uncertain, unsure
whether they will bring rain
or merely play peekaboo with the sun.
It is so hard to tell sometimes.
I gave up
trying to predict the weather
a long time ago.
At best it is a black art
sprinkled with science,
not unlike life and love and faith,
all things beyond us, unpredictable
no matter how we believe
we are in control.
Better to trust the tides and wind.
Ride the currents and trust them.
They have traveled the earth for eons
without me
and have done just fine,
All without worry, or struggle
or fretting. I could learn from that.
I should.
And that is why I sit here on the shore,
still. Pretending I am wise
as I wait.
Uncertain weather all around.
About this poem
A poem about weather. A poem about the things we can control and the things we cannot. A poem about uncertainty and the search for peace. Poetry is never about one thing.
The photograph is from the salt marshes in Provincetown, Mass.
Tom
Quarry House 
Uncertain, indeed. I am anxious about what lies ahead but made an astounding discovery this year. After decades relying on anti-anxiety medication, latterly just for sleep and to keep withdrawal at bay, I finally extricated myself from its clutches. I assumed that in moments of stress I would miss the crutch. What I found was that I am much more resilient without it and do not miss it AT ALL.
Congratulations!