Rain cascaded down the forest canopy,
landing, sliding upon the roof of the shelter.
Huddled on a picnic table beneath it,
we watched the story unfold,
mesmerized by the rising action,
the sound and silence of the setting.
Minutes. Hours. Hopes of hiking
washed away in rivulets
down to the once dry creek
now moving with water.
Rain jackets slick, inside and out.
Chilled, the children ran to the car.
Absorbed in my own solitude,
my husband in the tent with the dog,
I reached a precipice of peace.
Months of walls, screens,
tears, puddling on the ground.
The storm soothed me awake.
When it slowed, we collapsed the tents,
stuffed our sacks, packed the car.
Our clothes soaked, prospect of campfire
drowned, we returned home
after a two-hour denouement,
relieved for the washing, the purge.
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