Archive
09/22/09
Amateur Naturalist
How elementally comforting it is, Awakening to rain reciting, to me, its psalms and proverbs, Just beyond my cabin's open windows,
Knowing I've not yet taken time to decide Whether I'll go to the only place I have to be going: Nowhere.
In any event, I'll either stay holed up Or manage to walk in and around, up and down, the town And along the sand-path labyrinths of the closed boys' camp.
Now, the precipitation seems to have taken shelter elsewhere Or, like an ancient geyser, played itself out; Either way, the afternoon belongs to me.
Outdoors, in shoes, shorts, T-shirt, nothing more, I'm enveloped in a low-hovering, cloud-laden mist, An ash-white circumambience of dense saturation,
As though what, just hours ago, was a steady downpour Has escaped into a vaporous state, Chosen to suspend its peremptory intentions indefinitely,
Content to have left its legacy of wetness Dripping from tree leaves, glistening on grass, Gathered in street puddles, gutters, on every tangible surface.
Ah, but then, wouldn't you know it, Just when I think we're all done with today's changes And I've ranged half a mile away from my cabin,
Here comes the chilly rain, again, Playing me for the amateur naturalist I'll always be, Unable to read the North Woods' most elemental elements.
09/22/09
|
|||
|
|||
