It was hot and the sky was clear. Time for lunch.
By after lunch, a few clouds and a breeze
Crept over the lower mountains surrounding
The village half asleep even at the beginning
Of high season, when the boats and the bicycles,
The campers and the Harley Hogs proliferate.
A slow walk down Main Street to the white trailer
Sheltered in the heavy maples, and already rain
Had begun to spatter. Then the downpour,
First as sun shower, then with thunder,
A blue hole misaligned over the homes.
You may have philosophized, and you will.
You may have pondered the terms of fleeting
Existence, and you will continue to do so.
But right then you were glad to have reached
A sheltered porch with nothing more urgent
Than observation of the weather left to do.
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