Stormy

Was that the wind
A tempest blew,
Or ‘stead,
Vestiges of my life
Gone whooshing by?

~ ~ ~

Seasoned

I am a sojourner
having thinned my soles
’tween the youthful vigor of the warm Pacific
and the cold awakening of the Atlantic,
and I am weathered, fit of wear,
sufficiently rounded to 
ply my strides where now I walk
amidst the soothing souls.