Stepping through the door
to all that’s unfamiliar
leaves me feeling strange.
In fact, peculiarly peculiar.

The winds of change
blow hard and cold,
and often bittersweet.
My instinct to recoil
is all to no avail
as they curl about my feet.
Constraining me
to step through,
unable to stand still,
I face a fate
against my will.
Though sometimes
like a gentle breeze
the winds blow sweet,
they also bring me grief.
The winds of change
produce the rain
I need to grow.
They carry me
from child’s play.
They carry me
to wedding day.
They carry me
to faith in God.
But bury
those I love.
The winds blow
hard and cold.

Why am I a stranger, still,
to the unexpected blows
of all life’s twists and turns.
Does anybody know?