It is a cluttered step I take…under the weather.
The wilderness calls to me…
Reminding me…’I am the lost soul.’
I have surrounded myself with other wanderers.
A circle of seekers…under the weather.
None of us deceived by items we do not need.
But for some there is no tourniquet for the bleed.
THEY take sips from sorrow’s cup.
And, only when the wilderness calls…enough is enough.
Under the weather lies the love.