When I lived in Newfoundland
I used to ride my bike to work
And sometimes the wind off the ocean would be so strong
I’d have to peddle going down hill.
And on those days I’d battle the wind
Fighting tooth and nail
Trying to make it to work on time
And then in Montreal winters
Walking to school
A cold wind would hit me as I turned a corner
Tunneled by the buildings
Picking up speed
Chilling me to the bone
And now living in a small community in BC
I’ve found a different kind of wind
Same pressure
Different source
The winds of emotions
Of trying to live and work together
Of trying to make things work and disagreeing about how
And I’ve been standing in this wind being pummelled again
Thinking “Why me?”
“I’m just the messenger.”
And then the other day
I remembered if I spread my wings at just the right angle
I can catch the wind and lift up
The birds don’t spit at the wind
They allow it to help them to soar
So I’m learning not to run away
I’m learning to face
Choose my angle
And soar.
