I’m in that kind of mood, I guess. Again, I retain copyright to this.

I started writing this for a dear friend. I think, in the end, I wrote it for myself as well.

The Storm surge gave us warning, with storm birds on the wing,
The wind is in the trombone, as the rigging starts to sing,
The First storm of the season is coming through our town,
Your lines are fast, your hatches latched, it’s safe to now bed down.

The stories you have shared with me of when your skies turned gray,
shows that you can hold your own, while your face is stung by spray
some storms have blown you over, for others you’ve held fast
It’s not the first storm you’ve endured it will not be the last,

This may well be the worst storm yet, but you’ve said that before.
I’ve seen you smile through your concern of what’s outside the door.
The tempest may be blowing, and your house may moan and creek,
the house you built is solid, and it will safeguard your sleep.

Tomorrow when the blow is done, you walk again outside
To see what gifts the storm brought you upon the ebbing tide.
No one can claim it’s easy, the storm based acid test
But we take what we are given, and we do what we think best.