I awaken to sheets of rain. And a brief power outage while fixing breakfast for Griffin, my rain-averse, pro-breakfast Labrador Retriever.
“What?” I can see the puzzled thought balloon in the dark above his cocked head. “Breakfast blackout?”
And then the lights come back on. Or the generator. Briefly. And then “the mains” as our linguistically amusing royal forbears would say.
Breakfast. For beast and man. But first, a rainy verse.
Reading a poem written in a rain puddle.
A pickup truck speeds through, soaking me.
I wear the poem home to read again later.
Not this morning’s verse. Pulled instead from the recycling bin of orphan poems slowly composting…
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