Life hasn't hit me too hard yet.
Winds of change feel like a freight train.
But they pass soon enough.
The deafening noise was a low,
Middle of the workday growl
From the air going about its business.
But I had decided to scream over it
With my indignation that nothing better
Could be ahead.
I was the train. Lights off and shattering.

Maybe I should look more at the birds,
That try to fly against the wind.
And are halted mid-air.
They rock and flap.
Sometimes the hawks screech.
They should know the hunting
Is just as good behind them.
They could so easily
Fly ahead of the storm.
But still they look into it.