Hearing the rain, he puts down

his Harlan Coben at a really

good spot in the plot,

 

looks out the window and sees

drops splattering and bouncing

off the balcony railing,

 

sliding down the patio umbrella

closed for the season, onto the

table and chairs,

 

not yet put away, through the slats

of the deck onto the concrete below,

running off into the

 

sand, filtering down, down, down

and swirling around to the Big Lake

raising the water

 

level for the second year in a row

after several years of a drought.

He’ll miss a jog,

 

but doesn’t mind too much think-

ing about kids romping in the

surf around the 4^th of July.

 

There’s a lull in the rain;

he may get in that jog

all the same.

 

Oops, it’s raining again.