Three miles out and caught on the wind,
Drifting,
Drifting as serenely as a cloud,
Harmless,
Peaceful,
Yet filled with potential
The potential of a malevolent storm
The potential to surpass expectation
The potential to be transformed
From serenity to chaos,
Resting sure in this knowledge of subdued power,
The prospect of things not yet seen in me,
To rip through the complacency,
Smiling in unrepentant joy
So self centre as to be a sin
But as natural as the sky rendering lightening
The ear abusing thunder
The release of long held joy.

Three miles out and latent with becoming,
Clouds ice cream white turning goose feather grey,
Two miles out
Drawing in silently,
Then hues of slate grey.
Be afraid in your inner person,
Be afraid
For I’ve yet to be all I was meant to be.
One mile out.