Sails

White sheets on the line

are a sign of spring -

gathering wind, light and air -

I pull them towards my winter face

and breath in freedom.

Change

Today they're removing

section by section,

the old sycamore

next to the church.

For three summers

I've stared from my bedroom

at its buds, birds

and complicated leaves.

For three winters

I've watched from my window

its bare branches

scratching the sky.

Now the view is clear -

the open sea

and all her promises.

Time to set sail.