Stormy Run

The rain taps out a steady pattern

she ignores as she slithers into

running pants.

 

At the last minute she decides on

the rain jacket, emerges in a windy

chill, the rain more mist.

Like snow just before it decides

to be snow.

 

She licks the drips off the edge of

her nose, they come with the salty

tang of her sweat, blocks from

home.

 

She runs by the lake, the waves

an angry stir like boiling milk.

The horizon is a wall of solid

clouds obscuring her

view.

 

If she didn’t know it already,

she wouldn’t believe land

was just a few miles

away.

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