Coastal Winds
Coastal winds
whip across the marsh,
trees submit,
yielding—bent
until the limbs gnarl and knot
finding strength and hope.
. . .
Poetry doesn’t have to be hard.
It can be about dogs or flowers or death or pigs or laundry.
It can be fun or weird or life-changing.
It can be old or modern, have form or float around.
—Megan Willome
I walked through the coastal neighborhood marveling at the shape of the large oak trees. Each one bent and disfigured as only an incessant wind could achieve.
In spite of the forces of nature, these trees withstood daily battering, hurricanes, and the ravages of time. I feel like those trees.
My life has had blue skies, gentle rains, and caressing love. With that, also came, storms, losses, and struggles that I never thought I could overcome much less survive.
But like those trees, I have. I am also weathered, wrinkled, and a bit worn. Despite the weather of life, I am strong and hopeful, filled with gratitude.
I will never let go.
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