Time has no meaning

The weather is odd this morning.
Uncertain clouds, maybe threatening,
maybe blowing off.
Strangely balmy for October.

You can smell the rain and the ozone
that may or may not fall.
Smell the spring that is long past.

It could be unsettling, but you are long past that.
You learned long ago time has no meaning,
no value beyond a marker, and even that is uncertain.
You are somehow, old and young in the same day,

About this poem

I always, even after all these years, have trouble knowing where to end a poem. Editing does not come easy. I cut four stanzas off the end of this one to get to the real poem.

The clouds really are strange this morning. Unnatural in color, shifting, uncertain. It is oddly balmy for October in Vermont. Mirroring my life right now.

The picture was taken on Cape Cod, last May, on a similar day.

Tom