I don’t believe the meteorologists

They’re just like those who speak generosity for all but then close their fists 

What is supposed to be expected doesn’t come to fruition 

I think I’m better off relying on my own intuition 

Bridges are prettiest when you cross them 

Not at a distance 

It’s one thing I’ve learned 

Like getting sunburned 

Something far away can hurt you 

All the unknowns, just like the future 

The forecast 

The frivolous planning and worrying for something that’s unsure 

But running over those massive structures 

Looking down at the water, up at the pelicans (instead of my phone or tomorrow)

Seems to curb some kind of hunger 

I like to read the books and articles 

Talk to those who’ve walked before me 

But I’m starting to think all the advice is just barnacles 

Jagged and ragged

Everyone’s living a different story 

So I’ve decided 

I crumple up my shopping list 

Make a donation 

And open my fists

I close the books 

Take my shoes off the hook 

Lace up

(They were wrong too about make up – so I still skip that)

I walk then run 

Under the sun, not the clouds that were predicted 

And I try not to think about when the run has ended 

There’s beliefs and there’s reality 

Right now is all that there is 

My dog would believe it 

So I wait for the bridges 

I can’t see beyond the clouds 

And the pavement is different than how others have described it 

I can’t see over the bridge 

I’m not surrounded by co-workers, overzealous churchgoers, meteorologists or psychologists or even best-selling authors 

But I’m not bothered 

I’m delighted