Precarity

This is a season of precarity
whether you know the word
or not.

I say "season" though
it might be an "era."
In any case, 
there is no end in sight.

I'm feeling rather calm at the moment.
Breathing deeply and
planting both feet firmly on the ground.

Then some political wind blows by
and pushes me off center.
"Wavering" is the word
that comes to mind.

Then I remember that wavering 
is not the same as falling over.

Trees waver in a storm.
Seagulls fly into the wind.
A Dalmatian balances a taxi on his nose.
 
I can hold my own amidst 
this political maelstrom.

And WE,
some,
or most, 
or all of us.
WE can push back together.