Weathering the Swan

Falling to the floor like a drugged swan, wings flapping, honking.

The sickly warmth of paralysis seizes; Inner calmness defends.

I know this calm before the storm.

But what cordial mental maelstrom?

Best not to worry, we can’t control the weather; just wear appropriate clothes and baton down the hatches.

Pressure rises, air fills heavy.

No weathermen can predict.

Internal barometer’s broken.

Occasional light rain, destructive hurricane; the odd emotional tsunami.

After every downpour I look for the light within and make rainbows.