Grey, round and wet on the windshield
Before the wiper swipes, the squeegeeing
Seeping into my bones, dank and cold
Sopping, slogging, splashing,
Slowly dripping onto
Piles of sloppy Gortex, boots and coats and hats
Freshly tracked in floors, patterned in rainboot waffle
Stuck on bits of leaf mold and mud
Everywhere you look.
Dry now means less damp, relative
Humidity always close to a perfect 100, we must be in first place
In rainforest championships and synonyms of rain.
Sidestepping squalls, all fifty shades of grey,
Our world now just ponds and roaring creeks on once green land,
Everything seen through the eyes of a duck,
We are all becoming paddlers.
–Neal Lemery 2/13/2020