In the garden is a weather vane…


Well…I say a weather vane

There is a child’s toy windmill on a stick – you know the sort?

Once a bright red and gold, now faded to smoother, subtle hues.

 

Some days it whirs majestically, others it is still.

Some days it judders and jerks entirely dependant on the winds that blow.  On their kindness or ferocity…

Other days it just stands serenely, surveying all around it, the ever changing seasons and the inclimate weathers.

Buffeted by storms, or isolated in peace. Neither one nor the other.

This ‘weather vane’ invariably represents my Life.

 

 

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