These days I’m connecting up with Kidlitosphere Central for Poetry Friday. Today’s host is Tabatha Yeatts @ The Opposite of Indifference.
I started this poem when we were high mountain camping in early July a couple of years ago. The weather was wretched. Not only was it cold, but it rained for most of the time until just before we left. One morning we saw fresh snow just a ways higher up than we were. In spite of this, it's my favourite time to be there since other campers are scared away by the possibility of such misery.
Storm
There is no let up.
Hunkered down in my bed
I read
and the rain thunders down
pummeling the fibreglass roof.
There is no let up.
I add another layer of clothing
begin a new book,
bundle under more blankets.
Try to keep the cold at bay.
There is no let up.
Squalls snarl across the tarp.
Waterfalls of runoff
pour into buckets and puddles.
Ensconced in my nest,
I finish another book.
And then it's over.
The second act begins:
songbirds warble, whistle,
trilling counterpoint.
The sky brightens.
A green world glistens.
In the evening
we parlay round a campfire.
Stars shine.
Conversation turns to meaning of life.
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| This is the lake during a brief respite from the rain. |
Previous Posts
1. Easter Sunday Rumination on Eggs
2. Tulips
3. Untitled
4. Waiting
5. Truce
6. Thaumaturgy
7. Untitled dodoitsu
8. To Do List
9. Anniversary
10. Tribulation
11. Story Is Who We Are
12. Fears
13. Another Poem
14. Morning Headache
15. Love
16. Greg
17. Gift
18. Ceremony
19. Waiting
Brrr! I need a sweater reading your poem. :-)
ReplyDeleteIt is definitely long underwear weather!
DeleteI love that finale, Cheriee, as if the earlier part of the day never happened. Your description made me want to grab a comforter and read, but it must have felt like mayhem for a while. Love this memory poem.
ReplyDeleteThanks Linda. I think after camping on the west coast we expect there will be rain, and end up being mostly prepared for it. Being safe and dry inside the mayhem is actually glorious!
DeleteThis is a lovely poem. I especially like the imagery in the next to the last stanza. Wonderful sounds in "warble" and "tribble."
ReplyDeleteThank you Glenda. I’m not sure we actually have language to truly convey bird song, but we do our best.
DeleteIt's a good thing you brought TWO books :-) Thanks for sharing this memory-poem with us!
ReplyDeleteOh, I bring a pile with me just to be prepared!
ReplyDeleteA lovely poem. I felt like I was in the tent.
ReplyDeleteThanks Kimberly!
DeleteSounds so cozy!
ReplyDeleteIt is, but wild at the same time!
DeleteMost of my best camping trips have involved rain--and even some cold. There's nothing like being out in the woods--and with a good book or two, there's always something to do!
ReplyDeleteYes indeed, and if you want to do nothing, that’s ok too!
DeleteI've been so busy this month that being stuck in a tent high on a mounting with books in a cold rain sounds good! LOL. The peace of getting away to the mountains. It sounds like medicine to me. I like how the first lines of your stanza are their own poem. A poem within your poem.
ReplyDeleteThat’s why we go right after school starts in July! Thanks for mentioning that about the first lines. I hadn’t noticed.
DeleteI love that shift towards the end. May life's storms always abate (and may there always be books to keep us going through the worst of it all)!!
ReplyDelete