I wish I could claim I'd taken this picture, but I didn't, and the title of the poem "A Tolerance for Rain" comes from Winter Abbot who--obviously--is something of a poet herself. As it happens, we got an afternoon of half-hearted thunder and steady downpour just in time to put me in the mood. The whole poem will go up at Tupelo. Here's an excerpt:

A Tolerance for Rain

for walks with no

purpose, unsalted food, hemlocks

beautiful in their weeping,

the neighbor’s long stories—

what happened on the bus, things

the plumber said.

I’m learning to put up with it,

CNN a muted background to my life,

blister on my instep.
Morning mirror,

this lined face.

I have an ongoing project of writing about becoming conscious of aging, a bizarre project, I guess. Not something most of us love thinking  about. On the other hand, I have to write about the things that occupy my mind, and that's sure one of them. I'm glad to be back in NE where it's easy to look out the window and think about time and change, what with the seasons coming and going, the trees subsiding and exploding again into green. On the whole I live a peaceful, drama-free life in the middle of that easy rhythm, and I'm mostly glad of it. Mostly.

I've wrtten seventeen poems. I can hardly believe it. Now I have to write another. Want to help? Go to the donor page and read all about it.