Of Stormriding and Picnicking (Again)

Photo by Valeria Boltneva on Pexels.com

The aches throb. Even the sensations of fatigue have tired. The sleepless night, the challenging day facing students that had a week off, the planning of a poetry jam: They were the breakers. I was the eroding shore. But the Irish song is right: I “weathered the storm” and came “out smiling in the end.”

fading light

the emergance

of frog-croaking

Still, I would rather enjoy another picnic. Like the one we had at Boscobel, where the Hudson Valley Shakespear Company would later perform one of the Bard’s comedies. We enjoyed bread, proscuitt and cheese, washing it down with a pinot noir, all while lying on our favorite picnic blanket. Or a simpler affair, in which Mira and I visited a popular Vineyard in New Paltz, New York–one of the many on the Hudson Valley Wine Trail. Seated in our lawn chairs, we ate homemade empenadas and a tasty salad while sharing a house red. These are far better waves to ride then the storm-tossed riptides I so recently survived. Nevertheless, a time for pleasant picnicking will return someday. Let me enjoy this smile at the end of my latest stormriding in the meantime.


that family of deer

graze in the yard

for dVerse Poets’ Haibun Monday – That Picnic (pubtended by Gina)

#NaPoWriMo2019 / #GloPoWriMo2019 29/30

WD April PAD 2019 29/30

15 replies »

  1. its so lovely how a memory of picnic shared with someone can soothe your soul after a trying week. attending a poetry read or play outdoors and combining that with a picnic is such a delight, so well captured Frank.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. What a pleasant memory of that easy going picnic. I have a roller coaster of a work schedule right now, and would really like to bask and enjoy that wine, bread and cheese.

    I would love to see a family of deer. Delightful haiku.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I like that little teaser of the rip-tide you recently survived, apparently smiling still, in the middle of your recollection of the wine tours and the bards. You are in chatty mode, as if you have thoroughly enjoyed the better part of a bottle of pinot noir with your proscuitt (? Sicilian pronunciation of prosciutto). So I will share a chat. Last summer, surfing in Puerto Rico I ended a wave too high and it tossed me to the bottom smashing my face, cracking my neck and back. I thought I bit the big one, but came up, even though bloody and hurt, by later that night, Bacardi put a smile back on my face — so I can relate. L’Chaim, Frank!

    Liked by 1 person

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