Ulli Becker was worried. She came down for a dip,
Hair up in a quick bun, wearing the familiar
Black shades and bikini she always wore to swim.
She scanned the windy whitecaps, the slate
Clouds hinting thunder over Valhalla on the far side
Of the lake. “Jörg is on the other side
With our guests. I’m waiting for them
To kayak back,” she said. We said we’d seen
No kayaks in an hour. She thanked us, swam
Briefly, and went back in to her house.
We packed up when the thunder rumbled,
But still no sign of returning kayaks. How
Was it we ever evolved to handle these odds
In our heads? So many unfortunate events
Are both extremely unlikely in the event
And frequent enough in sum that any
Bayesian would sermonize on updating priors.
Jörg and the kayaks would almost certainly
Return, as Jörg had always returned, adventure
Leader that he was, from every country,
Every tour, and every blessed, risky thing.
It was another lottery, one one didn't want to win.
But Ulli was worried, a little, nonetheless,
And the whitecaps nodded assent from duress.
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