a weather vane without a roof
or without a house even. a vane in immaculate condition, well oiled and responsive to the slightest draft. able to change direction while providing direction.
but nothing underneath - no house nor residents, no family building a fire on a winter’s night. no tucking the kids into bed, assuring them the it’s just the wind.
no one to care which way the weather is blowing. no one to react.
and what does that look like? is it a vane on an abandoned church steeple, where the rest of the weatherboard has rotted away from years of neglect.
is the vane suspended in mid air? if so, how high. what’s keeping it there. what purpose does it serve if no one sees it from the ground.
or is it discarded, propped up in the backyard of some hoarder’s hovel? did he find it at the dump, clean it up, have high hopes of erecting on his own roof before forgetting about it - leaving it among the rusted cars on cinderblocks and half-made chicken coops.
these are questions i ask myself as i react and move to the currents of life, sometimes as a fish allowing itself to rest as it flows downstream, sometimes as a dog chasing a car.
did i have a home? did i let it rot away to ruin. did i plan to make to restore it.
all i know is that i’m tired. for a long time now i've caught myself saying - i just want to go home. somewhere i can place my vane, see what’s coming and either stoke the fire or play with the kids outside.