My Fickle Love

She's at her strongest in the spring is this paramour when we meet. Depending on the day, sometimes the hour, she changes direction with whim. As long has she remains at my back we ride like the famed. Her pushing is welcome and so are the whispers and when we are moving together the wheels beneath glide across the road rising to meet me. While we are this way I swim in her bliss.

But, she's the capricious sort as well and when we cross my very frame is shaken. Her wrath can sting my cheek and the more I resist the harder she insists upon her intent. My heart rises and sinks with her presence depending upon the size of her will.

Turing to face her shows how fickle this love is. What only a moment before was a happy entwined shared interest union quickly becomes a push against her nature. In the summer she blows the burning embers of our romance into my face and in the winter her steely chill cuts to the bone.

In the end she again brands me Othello. Despite hearing her swirling against my sturdy walls I take to her anyway. I am a man of action prone to quick decisions sometimes on false pretenses of easing her passions. Self deluded, I continue to swim, bike, and run with her all along proving that I love not wisely, but too well. 

The struggle against the wind is futile. There's no changing her on my terms. No, she has ways of her own and can't be controlled by any man.

Love me or hate me, she strengthens me and toughens me. With my resolve - for as much as she is insistent I am stubborn - in place she makes me a better athlete. Othello reminds that the passion of love outdoes the reason of logic. Why swim, bike, and run in the rain, in the cold, in the searing heat of summer, and yes, even against your paramour wind? The answer isn't found on the balancing of scales but in the beating of the hearts. Nay, that's certain, the pity of it Iago!

Stay tuned...