The wind,
the trees,
the graying thunder-studded skies
greet us,
sitting close together on a creaky bench.
Beneath the eves we huddle
as big, cold drops plop
before our eyes.
Like a cat I sniff the cooling air,
reach out to catch a few cold drops
in the warm of my hand:
And I am comforted, sitting with you,
with the storm.
***”Arrival,” by Mary Elyn Bahlert, 5/2025
