Floodplain - The Weather Station

All spring I was driving

Every river swollen with rain, every stream a torrent

Over the highway bridges that run high across the plains, flooded

«Half of the Maritimes,» they say, «is running this way.»

I don’t expect your love to be like mine

I trust you to know your own mind.

As I know mine

Could it really be so effortless

All in my sight, many hillsides —

Green and black and distant, and rivers serpentine, glinting

I know there’s so much it just can’t mean — you and me

Still caught up in heartache and grief

Yet to come, yet to cease

I feel like I’m seeing double, all joy and all trouble

My friends say, «be careful,» or «be gracious,» «glad,» or «thoughtful»;

«don't move too fast»;

«don't let it pass you by.»

But I don’t expect your love to be like mine

I trust you to know your own mind.

As I know mine