Rain falls steady. I see the faint lines of its passage from my perch on the sofa. Classical music—a composition sounding suspiciously like circus music—plays on Vermont Public Radio.
Three years with little rain: we had a good run. We therefore settle in for a cozy downtime, having earned $100 American Express gift card for enduring another Windham sales presentation.
Dishwasher running the lingering taste of dark chocolate
Lunch is leftover Mexican from Zorro’s, washed down with White Zinfandel, and followed by Lake Champlain dark chocolate and fresh cherries. Bittersweet tastes enswathe my tongue.
Reading while classical plays sorrowful Taira
The fox trail opens to a gorgeous chasm on our left, with the Birch and Maples on our right. Far below, the rain-swollen brook rushes on its course
Breathe the open air walking Smuggs trails while the weather holds
A moment while seated
The roar of no-name brook while
A sonata plays
Wish I could live this moment
That already passed away
The drizzle doesn’t stop us. Frankie and I walk down the gravel slope towards the Notchville Pool. I recall joking with Mira that I could put on a bathing suit and sit in the white Adirondack chairs outside our unit. Now, I lean on a white chaise as he crosses the “Lilly Pads.” Falling in more than he makes it.
Chilly air Plunging down the pipe slide
After water tag in the pool with the water fort, we head to the main pool. While playing water nukem on a floating “net,” a boy from camp named Alan and his sister ask to play. I quietly step aside as Frankie stretches those fingers to catch a ball he can’t reach. Smiling to see him enjoying company.
Warm pool water shivering as we towel off in the rain
Photo by Emma Frances Logan
first published in Image Curve, April 18, 2019
for dVerse Poets Pub’s Open Link Night #241 (pubtended by Frank Hubeny)