To the WInd

Ordinarily, I guard myself,
step squarely in the path's center,
take the worn one, avoid the vicious 
cardinal or rampaging squirrel.

Ordinarily, the pie is apple,
the side potatoes, the dressing ranch,
the drink koolaide.

Ordinarily, I take the Interstate,
not the blue highway, buy the Chevy 
not the Maserati, wear Keds not Jimmy Choo

Today, however, I am older 
by only a few minutes
and that has made all the difference.

The wind blows, and I move to speak up-
to toss caution high overhead so that 
the sun's rays, the ebullient raindrops 
bathe me in hope.

I am brimming with muse juice,
teetering on the rim of remarkable.


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