The morning, breezy, overcast.
Inviting two walks.
Before, after breakfast.
But, dark clouds hover.
Forecast predicting storms.
Arriving earlier than declared.
Then, hiatus.
Touch of sun.
Let’s run outside again, we call to one another.
Grabbing umbrellas, rain hats.
Wanting one more go around the block.
A few more dry minutes.
Between tempests.
To stretch legs.
Along the same path.
Now glistening from showers.
Distracted by angelinas, foxglove blooms.
Forgetting it would rain again.
Till we feel pitter pat on hands, shoes.
Slowly picking up speed.
Becoming a vertical river.
We push up umbrellas.
Increasing pace.
But the torrent, relentless.
Soaking shirts, shoes.
We stop under a small overhang.
To catch our breath.
Wait for the downpour to lighten.
Before sprinting home.
Down the middle of the street.
Avoiding deep puddles.
Cars on either side.
Making it back sopping wet,
tempting fate, succumbing.
But instead of misery, regret,
returning home, humming.
Lynn Benjamin
May 28, 2024
