I made it to the top of the hill and the rain showered my cheeks in a whipping wash.
The storm brought rain mostly and a time to wait, and trust, and to stop depending on the weather or the man to begin, or to stay, to go.
Go, go with the flow. Go slow if you struggle, still go.
So, today the wind said no use for that hat and I set out to walk, to run into the wind with Alison Krauss singing of maybe one day maybe and a simple love like that and please read the letter that I wrote.
Tiny leaves all around, torn from the trees still green and one large maple between two pines is sparsely scattered with yellow now amongst the still lively greens.
Saying time is changing, you are changing. It is time.
So, I passed a couple walking separate but together, moved uphill running to the opposite and not even a nod did I offer.
For I was moving steady and thinking now about the times against the wind and how that song used to slow me but, now feels quite fine.
Like a letter you write that needs new correspondence because this is now and that was then. You open the mail to find an invitation to enter a literary competition, to submit again like last year before and you tuck it away knowing already the story, the one about changing names.