Rain in Stowe refreshes,
refocuses the mind.
The Rec Path, empty of bikers, hikers.
Even birds, squirrels, chipmunks cease their play, hide.
I am alone with oaks, maples, birches.
Leaves glisten as droplets cleanse them.
Drip drips turn puddles into concentric circles.
Water rushes downstream, loud, but calming.
Rain refills streams, makes hundreds of waterfalls off rocks.
Each bridge is a front row seat to the spectacle.
Black eyed Susans dot the path.
A cornfield undulates beside me.
The mountains in the distance cradle clouds, mist.
Dreamlike, a haze rises.
Spirits of ancestors, clad in bird vetch, wild morning glories, emerge.
Meet me in shadows.
To survey my odyssey of discovery, decline, death.
I reassure them.
Tell them I’m close.
That I’ll be heading home soon.
Lynn Benjamin
July 2, 2021