There are days, or at least an hour or so of a day,
When my heart seems so very hollow.
Even a slight breeze coming off the lake
Hits me with unexpected force
As thoughts and memories and strange realities
Visit unexpectedly, catch me off guard,
Blow me off course as much as white swans—
Feathers roughed and wild are cast adrift.
They are not what they appear, simply calm
But working hard under surface of the water.
I stand in awe and am blessed by wildness.
So much is happening that I cannot see or even sense,
Out there, within me, blown sideways, blown open.
It does not take a bolt of lightening.
Even the hint of a breeze can put me out to sea.