the sky morphed -
to storm cloud black;
and the beach was left
in abandoned sand castles -
and transistor radio doo-wops,
doo-wopping from the cabin porch.
the sun had run off with the kids . . .
the canoe, it appeared, went along for the ride -
out onto the dark lake.
I heard booms of thunder -
loud kettle drum bangs -
and my heart began to pound,
in revving flip-flops
as my eyes scanned round and round:
scary pleading darts, of stops and starts.
I was about to sound the alarm
when I saw them - paddling towards shore -
their faces, serious; their strokes, strong and sure.
the canoe brought them back to me,
just as the rain poured down
in plopping splattering giant drops -
glops - flopping and bouncing onto the lake.
they ran through the screen door -
soaked and laughing -
puddled footprints across the floor.
slowly, I ratcheted myself down:
inhaling the comforting, good smells
of rain, and children and camp logs
and bacon and coffee.
the cabin snuggled like a turtle
in the splashing water.
later the sun came out
and lit up the lake.
The kids had a good day.
note: A redo of an idea from a long ago poem.
photo: In the Cabin at the Lake - W. Bourke
© 2013 Wendy Bourke