In the woods today I thought of you
heading for the Outer Isles alone.
The weather forecast bodes well––
only a chance of a thunderstorm––
but we both know the quirks
of coastal weather, the zephyr
that suddenly becomes a blow
roiling the green Atlantic below
upending smaller skiffs caught in its grip
as we ourselves were once caught
and tossed as flotsam onto a chance shore.
So maybe you understand my concern
how I wish you safe beneath our roof
bounded by woods and subject to wind
yes, but protected by sheer tree-ness
standing between us and everything weather.