I was sitting on my front verandah today (a place where you will often find me). It was madly windy and I usually don't like the wind. Of all the weather, wind is least tolerable.
Reckless, disrupting, tearing, heartless wind.
My children were playing beside me; for once lost in a game and the 'hey mum can I's were either absent or lost to the wind. It was just me and the whipping trees and rushing grasses.
So much sadness around when the new year started so promisingly, I thought. And then the wind blew this thought my way.
Still promising.
Still promising, still hopeful. Still endlessly maybe.
"If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same...
And treat those two imposters just the same...
...Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!"
- Rudyard Kipling 'If'
Never sad for long.
On we trudge, towards a skip. On we skip towards our maybe.
[Image by Kimberley Levick]