walk in the Rain


Rainy Easter

 

Nothing else to do, I don my tan sports-

coat and head into the park for a short

jaunt in the Denver drizzle. My breath steams

ahead of me, though I move too leisurely

to be the locomotive suggested

by such gouts of steam. Cold drops, heaven’s tears(?)

slap my hair, wet it to the scalp, run down

my neck—cold down my back. I stride boldly

against the chill breeze, watch runnels gambol

down the park hill. A woman, attractive,

dark-haired and with dark almond eyes walks her

twin collies as the drizzle gives way to

slightest mists. The breeze moves a wisp of dark curl

at her temple. I walk on less alone.

 

David M Pitchford
12 April 2009

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