The Rain, the Snow, the Wind
That which is recurring comes and goes, yet always remains
Published in
1 min readMar 23, 2021
Rain falls fifty years ago,
I am a wet boy sailing a toy boat
in small streams alongside curbs.
Rain falls fifty minutes ago,
I mutter bitterly about the umbrella
hanging dryly in my closet.
Snow falls when I am 8,
I ask my mother for a carrot
to use for a snowman’s nose.
Snow falls when I am 55,
I regret turning down the job
that was waiting for me in Orlando.
The wind blows where it will
when I am a child, a teen,
a young up-and-comer, a man with gray hair.
The wind blows where it will
and I imagine a dove in flight,
leading me back to my own lost heart.
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