My Weather Vane Turns

To him whom I do not know who left us suddenly, and to those begrieved.

I, newly come into this existence, freshly birthed with unbounded opportunity, joined my family when my weather vane turned North.

Years of play and schooling later, stood I robed, hooded, and tassled, bounding forward to make my way, when my weather vane turned East.

Toil and love met me on my way, another’s footprints in the ocean-wet sand astride my own, when my weather vane turned South.

Joys and struggles, children newborn, and job changes, all joined me, on my winding path across plains, over foothills and mountains, there, and back again, when my weather vane turned West.

A career concluded, children grown, grandchildren sprouted, the fruits of many years, robustly goldened as a bread’s crust, holding their promise thickly flaked. It must be thus, I know, that as I entered this life, so I must leave it, when my weather vane turns North.

Perhaps a turn slow, with time enough for adieus and farewells and tears and heartfelt love. Perhaps a turn sudden, with memories as proxy for goodbyes unspoken.

Now, by a gesture from my Captain’s hand, the turn begins.

Softly I whisper, “Oh wind, do tug e’re so gently, do with comfort softly blow, do carry my heart’s love’s warmth to my dears, and for that I’ll be grateful.”

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I’ve Lost Half of Me: Pitched Past Pitch of Grief